THE 


NOVELS  AND  NOVELISTS 


EIGHTEENTH   CENTUEY,' 


IN    ILLUSTRATION    OF   THE 


MANNERS  AND   MORALS    OF  THE  AGE. 


BY     A-' 

WILLIAM   FORSYTE,   M.  A.,  Q.  C., 

ACTHOE  OF  "THE  LIFE  OF  ciCEiio,'1  "CASES  AND  OPINIONS  ON  CONSTITUTIONAL  LAW,' 

ETC.,    ETC.; 
LATE  FELLOW   OF  TRINITY  COLLEGE,    CAMBRIDGE. 


NEW  YORK: 
I).    APPLETON    &    COMPANY, 

549    &    551    BROADWAY. 

1871. 


PKEFACE. 


I  BEGAN  this  work  intending  to  amuse  the  idle 
ness  of  a  long  vacation ;  but  a  severe  and  dangerous 
illness,  caused  by  an  accident,  entirely  baffled  my 
design,  and  I  was  obliged  to  finish  the  task  when  I 
had  much  less  leisure.  I  do  not  say  this  to  depre 
cate  criticism — if  the  work  is  to  be  criticised  at  all — 
but  merely  state  the  fact,  which  may  account  for 
shortcomings  that  are  very  likely  to  be  discovered. 
But  I  hope  that  the  bo*ok  will  be  judged  by  what  it 
professes  to  be,  and  not  by  what  it  is  not.  It  is  not 
a  history  of  the  wrorks  of  fiction  of  the  last  century, 
which  would  have  required  much  more  copious  detail, 
but  a  view  of  the  manners  and  morals  of  that  century, 
as  gathered  principally  from  hints  and  descriptions  in 


4:  PREFACE. 

the  novels  of  the  period,  corroborated  by  facts  from 
other  sources.  But  I  have  not  thought  it  necessary 
to  adhere  strictly  and  formally  to  this  programme, 
and  have  therefore  introduced  sketches  of  the  plots 
and  characters  of  some  of  the  most  interesting  and 
once  widely-popular  novels,  which  for  various  reasons 
remain  practically  unknown  to  the  great  mass  of 
readers  of  the  present  day,  and  especially  to  the  fe 
male  part  of  them.  To  do  this  and  give  any  thing 
like  a  just  idea  of  the  originals,  without  offending 
against  decorum,  is  no  easy  task,  nor  do  I  at  all  flatter 
myself  that  I  have  succeeded.  But  the  very  diffi 
culty  is  in  itself  a  proof  of  the  difference,  in  one 
important  respect,  between  the  taste  and  manners 
of  the  last  and  the  taste  and  manners  of  the  present 
century.  In  these,  I  think,  it  cannot  be  denied  that 
there  has  been  a  great  improvement;  but  I  hope  it 
will  not  be  supposed  that  I  mean  to  imply  that  our 
more  decorous  sins  are  not  morally  quite  as  bad  as  the 
vices  of  our  coarser  and  more  free-spoken  ancestors. 
We  may  be  thankful  that  in  many  aspects  the  state 
of  society  is  better  now  than  then  :  but  the  luxury  of 


PREFACE.  5 

the  ricli  is  still  in  startling  contrast  with  the  misery 
of  the  poor,  and,  although  vice  may  have  lost  its 
grossness,  it  still  lurks  like  a  canker  in  the  Common 
wealth.  We  shall  have  little  cause  to  boast  of  our 
superior  morality,  if  we 

"  Compound  for  sins  we  are  inclined  to, 
By  damning  those  we  have  no  mind  to." 


CONTENTS. 


0) 


CHAPTER  I. 


Fiction  in  relation  to  Fact. — Information  to  be  gleaned  from  Novels. 
— General  Characteristics  of  the  Last  Century. — Its  Coarseness. 
— Religion. — Love. — Influence  of  the  Age  upon  "Women. — The 
Essayists. — Hogarth. — Progress  of  Refinement. — Danger  of  mis 
taking  Satire  and  Caricature  for  Truth, 9 

CHAPTER  II. 

Dress. — Masquerades. — Drums. — '  Pretty  Fellows '  and  '  Maccaro- 
nies.' — Clubs. — Ranelagh  and  Vauxhall. — London. — Dangers  of 
the  Streets.— State  of  the  Roads.— Highwaymen,  ...  60 


CHAPTER  III. 

Prisons. —  Drunkenness. —  Swearing. —  Gambling. —  Duelling. —  Jus 
tice  of  the  Peace. — Country  Squire, 94 


CHAPTER  IV. 
The  Parson  of  the  Last  Century.— Fleet  Marriages,    .        .        .        .125 

CHAPTER  V. 

The  Old  Romances.—'  The  Female  Quixote.'— Novels  of  the  Last 
Century. — Their  Coarseness  and  its  Apologists. — '  Chrysal,  or 
the  Adventures  of  a  Guinea.'  —  '  Pompey.'  —  '  The  Fool  of 
Quality.'  —  Two  Classes  of  Novels.  —  *  Simple  Story.'  —  The 
Comic  Novels, 152 


CONTENTS. 
CHAPTER  VI. 

PAGK 

rs.  Belm  and  her  Novels. — '  Oroonoko.' — '  The  Wandering  Beau 
ty.'—'  The  Unfortunate  Happy  Lady.'— Mrs.  Manley  and  '  The 
New  Atalantis.'— '  The  Power  of  Love  in  Seven  Novels.'—'  The 
Fair  Hypocrite.'  —  Mrs.  Heywood.  —  Her  Novel,  '  Miss  Betsy 
Thoughtless,' 176 


CHAPTER  VII. 

Richardson.  —  '  Clarissa  Harlowe.'  —  '  Pamela.'  —  '  Sir  Charles  Grandi- 
son.'  —  Richardson's  Correspondence.  —  His  Portrait  drawn  by 
Himself,  ............  213 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

Fielding.  —  '  Tom  Jones,'  a  Favorite  of  the  Ladies.  —  '  Joseph  An- 

drews.'—'  Amelia,'  .........  255 


CHAPTER  IX. 

mollett.  —  Difference    between   him    and   Fielding.  —  '  Peregrine 
Pickle.'—'  Humphry  Clinker.'—'  The  Spiritual  Quixote,'     .        .  274 


CHAPTER  X. 

Goldsmith.—'  The  Vicar  of  Wakefield.'— Character  of  Later  Novels 
and  Romances. — Mackenzie. — 'The  Man  of  Feeling,'  '  The  Man 
of  the  "World,'  and  'Julia  de  Roubigne.'  — Miss  Burney.— 
'  Evelina,'  and  '  Cecilia.' — Miss  Edgeworth. — '  Belinda.' — Jane 
Austen. — Uses  of  Novels. — Responsibility  of  the  Novelist,  .  299 


V"  * 

Jjibrary. 


NOVELS    AND    NOVELISTS 


EIGHTEENTH    CENTURY. 


CHAPTER   I. 

FICTION  IN  EELATION  TO  FACT.— INFORMATION  TO  BE  GLEANED 
FROM  NOVELS.— GENERAL  CHARACTERISTICS  OF  THE  LAST  CEN 
TURY.— ITS  COARSENESS.— RELIGION.— LOVE.— INFLUENCE  OF  THE 
AGE  UPON  WOMEN.— THE  ESSAYISTS.— HOGARTH.— PROGRESS  OF 
REFINEMENT.— DANGER  OF  MISTAKING  SATIRE  AND  CARICA 
TURE  FOR  TRUTH. 

MY  object  in  the  following  work  is  to  make  use 
of  fiction  as  the  exponent  of  fact,  and  to  show  what 
information  is  to  be  gleaned  as  to  the  habits  and  man 
ners  and  social  life  of  our  ancestors  from  the  novels 
of  the  last  century.  If  I  may  be  pardoned  a  legal 
metaphor,  I  shall  summon  the  heroes  and  heroines  as 
well  as  the  authors  into  court,  that  they  may  give  evi 
dence  as  witnesses  of  a  state  of  society  that  has 
passed  away — and  of  which  it  is  difficult  now  in  the 
many  wonderful  changes  that  have  since  taken  place 
to  form  a  right  idea.  We  may  read  histories  of  Eng- 


10  NOVELS  AND  NOVELISTS. 

land,  and  be  familiar  with  the  pages  of  Cunningham, 
Belsham,  Adolphns,  Hume,  and  Smollett  (I  mean 
Smollett,  as  an  historian),  and  yet  be  almost  entirely 
•ignorant  of  the  manners  and  habits  and  mode  of  life 
of  our  forefathers  :  of  their  houses  and  dress :  their 
domestic  arrangements  and  amusements :  of  the  state 
of  religion  and  morality  and  all  that  goes  to  make  up 
the  character  of  a  people.  As  one  of  our  greatest 
novelists  has  said :  "Out  of  the  fictitious  book  I  get 
the  expression  of  the  life,  of  the  times,  of  the  man 
ners,  of  the  merriment,  of  the  dress,  the  pleasures, 
the  laughter,  the  ridicules  of  society — the  old  times 
live  again,  and  I  travel  in  the  old  country  of  England. 
Can  the  heaviest  historian  do  more  for  me  ?  "  *  I  an 
swer,  not  half  so  much.  The  historian  tells  us  of 
Court  factions  and  political  intrigues,  and  the  strug 
gles  of  an  Oligarchy  of  great  families  for  power — of 
the  "Walpoles  and  JSTewcastles,  and  Grenvilles  and 
Pitts — of  foreign  wars  and  domestic  treason — but  lit 
tle  of  the  condition  of  the  peasantry  and  life  of  the 
people,  and  absolutely  nothing  of  the  state  of  society 
in  the  period.  Paradoxical  as  it  may  seem,  there  can 
be  no  doubt  that  fiction  is  often  more  truthful  than 
fact.  By  this  I  mean  that  a  more  correct  idea  of  a 
period  may  be  formed  from  a  story  where  the  person- 
*  Thackeray,  'English  Humorists,'  p.  113. 


INFORMATION  TO  BE  GLEANED.  H 

ages  and  many  of  the  incidents  are  imaginary,  than 
from  a  dry,  doll  narrative  of  events.  The  most  life 
like  account  of  the  Civil  Wars  in  England  in  the  sev 
enteenth  century  that  I  know  is  contained  in  De 
Foe's  '  Memoirs  of  a  Cavalier,'  which  it  is  impossible 
to  read  without  believing  that  it  is  the  work  of  a  wri 
ter  who  had  been  himself  an  actor  in  the  scenes 
which  he  describes — and  which  Lord  Chatham  indeed 
quoted  as  a  genuine  history.  And  yet  it  is  as  much  a 
tiction  as  Waverley,  with  its  picture  of  the  Rebellion 
of  1745. 

Without  some  such  object  in  view,  it  would  have 
been  difficult  to  go  through  the  task  of  reading  what 
I  have  been  obliged  to  read.  For  as  stories,  the  nov 
els  of  the  last  century,  with  the  exception  of  some 
well-known  names,  are  deplorably  dull.  Their  plots 
are  contemptible,  and  the  style  is  detestable.  But, 
however  poor  the  incidents,  or  inartistic  the  construc 
tion,  the  writers  unconsciously  give  us  hints  wrhen  they 
least  intended  it  of  the  manners  and  customs  of  the 
time.  We  may  turn  with  disgust  from  the  insipid 
narrative  and  stupid  dialogue  ;  but  we  get  from  both 
little  traits  of  habits  and  opinions  which  are  valuable, 
as  enabling  us  to  form  a  just  idea  of  the  state  of  soci 
ety  around.  We  learn  how  our  ancestors  lived,  how 
they  amused  themselves,  and  the  conversation  they 


12  NOVELS  AND  NOVELISTS. 

/  indulged  in  ;  how  they  travelled  in  lumbering  coaches 
drawn  by  six  Flanders  mares ;  the  books  they  read, 
the  hour  at  which  they  dined,  and  the  dress  they 
wore;  how  the  boys  played  at  "  tagg  "  and  "  thrush- 
a-thrush,"  and  the  girls  at  "  draw-gloves  "  and  "  ques 
tions  and  commands."  We  are  brought  into  contact 
with  drums  and  ridottos,  and  masquerades ;  with 
E-anelagh  and  Yauxhall,  "Marybone  Gardens"  and 
'the  Pantheon;  with  swords  and  periwigs,  and  fon- 
tanges ;  dominoes  and  masques  ;  minuets,  cotillons, 
and  Sir  Roger  de  Coverleys ;  ombre  and  quadrille, 
and  lansquenet ;  with  Pope  Joan,  and  "  snip  snap 
snorum  ; "  and  we  see  pictured  before  us  the  "  life  of 
the  fine  old  English  gentleman — all  of  the  olden 
time." 

There  is,  indeed,  no  source  from  which  so  much 
information  may  be  gleaned  with  respect  to  the  social 
life  of  our  ancestors  as  the  Novels,  supplemented  by 
Diaries  and  Letters,  such  as  those  of  Lady  Cowper, 
Lady  Mary  "Wortley  Montagu,  and  Mrs.  Delany; 
the  Richardson  correspondence,  and  that  of  the 
Malmesbury  family  and  Horace  Walpole.  We  find 
ourselves  there  living  in  a  world  strangely  different 
from  that  of  our  own  day.  This  difference  is  shown 
in  a  thousand  ways,  by  which  the  writers  uncon 
sciously  betray  the  existence  of  habits  and  manners 


DIFFERENCE  OF  MANNERS.  13 

which  have  now  ceased  to  exist.  We  find  there  the 
loud  swearing,  the  hard  drinking,  the  loose  talk, 
which  were  common  even  among?  those  who  called 

O 

themselves  gentlemen  ;  the  swords  drawn  and  the 
duels  fought  on  the  slightest  provocation  ;  the  stiffness 
of  intercourse  between  parents  and  children,  and  the 
ceremonious  coldness  with  which  the  latter  addressed 
the  former  in  their  letters,  beginning  with  "  Sir  "  and 
"Madam,"  and  ending  with  "  Your  dutiful  child  and 
humble  servant."  * 

But  there  is  a  difficulty  in  the  way.  We  have  to 
face  an  amount  of  coarseness  which  is  in  the  highest 
degree  repulsive.  It  is  like  raking  a  dirt-heap  to  dis 
cover  grains  of  gold.  And  herein  lies  the  specialty 
of  the  case.  It  is  because  the  novels  reflect,  as  in  a 
mirror,  the  tone  of  thought  and  language  of  the  age 
in  which  they  were  written,  that  the  perusal  of  them 
even  now  is  useful  ;  and  we  get  from  them  a  much 
more  truthful  idea  of  the  state  of  society  and  morals 
than  from  pompous  histories  and  labored  essays. 
That  <  Roderick  Eandom,'  <  Peregrine  Pickle,'  <  Tom 
Jones  '  and  i  Tristram  Shand  '  could  have  been  writ- 


*  Dr.  Jolmson  almost  always  ends  his  letters  to  Boswell  with 
the  subscription,  "your  affectionate  and  very  humble  servant," 
and  Boswell  does  the  same  when  he  writes  to  the  object  of  his 
idolatry. 


14:  NOVELS  AND  NOVELISTS. 

ten  and  become  popular,  not  only  among  men  but 
among  women,  proves  that  society  was  accustomed 
to  actions  and  language  which  would  not  be  tolerated 
now. 

It  is  besides  my  purpose  to  describe  the  intellect 
ual  characteristics  of  the  century,  and  attempt  to  esti 
mate  its  true  value  among  the  centuries  of  the  world's 
history  with  reference  to  the  greatness  of  the  men 
it  produced,  and  the  works  they  left  behind  them. 
Whatever  may  be  thought  of  the  average,  it  is  impos 
sible  to  deny  that  the  age  was  the  parent  of  some  of 
the  most  illustrious  names  of  which  England  can 
boast.  The  general  face  of  the  sky  might  be  dark, 
.-But  there  were  stars  in  the  firmament  that  shone  with 
brilliant  splendor.  Butler  and  Clarke  among  Di 
vines  ;  Pope,  Chatterton,  and  Cowper,  among  Poets ; 
Addison  and  Johnson,  magnum  et  venerdbile  nomen, 
among  Essayists ;  Wilson,  Gainesborough,  and  Rey 
nolds,  among  Painters ;  Chatham  and  Burke  among 
Statesmen ;  Hardwicke  and  Mansfield  among  Law 
yers  ;  Fielding,  Smollett,  and  Goldsmith,  among  Nov 
elists  ;  Marlborough  among  Generals  ;  Bentley  among 
Scholars;  Gibbon  among  Historians;  and  Erskine 
among  Advocates — are  names  of  which  any  period 
might  be  proud,  and  they  redeem  the  eighteenth  cen 
tury  from  the  reproach  which  has  been  cast  upon  it 


SOCIAL  ASPECTS.  15 

by  a  distinguished  but  eccentric  writer  of  the  present 
day,  who  says  that  u  it  lies  massed  up  in  our  minds  as 
a  disastrous  wrecked  inanity  not  useful  to  dwell  upon  : 
a  kind  of  dusky,  chaotic  background,  in  which  the 
figures  that  had  some  veracity  in  them — a  small  com 
pany,  and  ever  growing  smaller,  as  our  demands  rise 
in  strictness — are  delineated  for  us."  * 

As  regards,  however,  the  social  aspect  of  the  age, 
and  the  general  tone  of  thought,  it  is,  I  think,  impos 
sible  to  deny  that  the  by-gone  century  is  not  an  at 
tractive  period. 

There  was  little  of  the  earnestness  of  life  and 
quick  invention  and  active  benevolence  which  are  the 
characteristics  of  our  own  age.  The  questions  that 
have  stirred  the  hearts  of  the  present  generation  then 
slumbered  in  the  womb  of  time.  Reform,  Free  Trade, 
Education,  and  Sanitary  Laws,  occupied  no  part  of 
the  thoughts  of  statesmen,  and  excited  no  interest  in 
the  people.  The  miracles  of  change  which  have  been 
wrought  by  Steam,  Electricity,  Chloroform,  Photog 
raphy,  and  Breech-loading  Artillery,  revolutionizing 
Mechanics  and  Science,  and  Medicine,  and  Art,  and 
War,  were  not  even  suspected  as  possible.  The  state 
of  our  prisons  and  workhouses  and  lunatic  asylums 
was  simply  a  disgrace  to  humanity.  Our  criminal 

*  Carlyle,  '  Frederick  the  Great,'  vol.  i.  p.  2. 


16  NOVELS  AND  NOVELISTS. 

law  was  written  in  characters  of  blood.  /  To  commit  a 
murder,  or  pick  a  pocket,  or  cut  down  a  young  apple- 
tree,  was  punished  by  the  same  penalty,  and  that 
penalty  was — death.  The  lower  classes  led  the  exist 
ence  of  animals,  and  were  brutal  even  in  their  sports. 
Cock-fighting,  bull-baiting,  and  the  bear-garden,  were 
the  ordinary  amusements,  diversified  sometimes  by  the 
fun  of  ducking  an  old  woman  in  a  horse-pond  as  a  witch. 
The  country  gentlemen,  as  a  class,  were  boorish  and 
ignorant,  devoted  to  the  bottle  and  the  chase.  The 
country  clergy  frequented  ale-houses  and  intermarried 
with  housemaids.  J  We  read  in  the  i  Connoisseur  ' 
(A.  D.  1755),  that'"  the  kept-mistress  is  a  constant  part 
of  the  retinue  of  a  fine  gentleman,  and  is  indeed  as 
indispensable  a  part  of  his  equipage  as  a  French  valet 
de  chambre  or  a  four-wheeled  post-chaise." 

On  the  pleasant  banks  of  the  Thames,  not  far  from 
Marlow,  may  be  seen  the  ruins  of  Medmenham  Ab 
bey,  which  was  formerly  the  scene  of  the  orgies  of  the 
Hell-Fire  Club.  It  was  here  that  the  company  of 
hard  drinkers  and  professed  infidels  were  frightened 
out  of  their  wits,  one  night,  by  the  sudden  appearance 
of  a  monkey,  which  in  their  tipsy  confusion  they  mis 
took  for  the  Devil.  And  yet  they  pretended  not  to 
believe  in  any  devil  at  all ! 

A  recent  writer,  who  has  attacked  with  unsparing 


WANT  OF  REFINEMENT.  1Y 

severity  the  faults  which,  until  our  own  day,  disgraced 
English  jurisprudence,*  says  of  the  period :  "  The  up 
per  classes  were  corrupt,  without  refinement ;  the 
middle,  gross  without  good-humor ;  and  the  lower, 
brutal  without  honesty."  f  I  do  not  think  it  is  fair  to 
say  that  the  middle  classes  had  no  good-humor  and 
the  lower  no  honesty;  but  it  is  certainly  true,  that 
grossnessand  brutality  were  their  characteristics,  :£  and 
beyond  all  doubt  their  condition  was  very  lamentable. 
At  the  end  of  the  century  evidence  was  given  that 
"  the  condition  of  the  poor  was  every  day  made  more 
wretched  than  ever."§  The  laborer  was,  in  fact, 

*  There  was  great  truth  in  what  a  Justice  of  the  Peace  is 
made  to  say  in  Fielding's  'Amelia:'  "And  to  speak  my  opin 
ion  plainly,  such  are  the  laws,  and  such  the  method  of  proceed 
ing,  that  one  would  almost  think  our  laws  were  made  for  the 
protection  of  rogues  rather  than  for  the  punishment  of  them." 
And  as  regards  civil  rights,  those  who  wish  to  know  how  jus 
tice  was  sacrificed  to  chicane,  even  in  our  own  day,  may  be 
amply  satisfied  by  looking  at  the  sixteen  volumes  of  the  '  Re 
ports  '  of  Meeson  &  Welsby. 

t  '  History  of  the  Law  of  Evidence,'  by  J.  G.  Phillimore,  p. 
546. 

J  "  The  time  when  he  (Fielding)  wrote  was  remarkable  for 
the  low  tone  of  manners  and  sentiment ;  perhaps  the  lowest 
that  ever  prevailed  in  England ;  for  it  was  precisely  a  juncture 
when  the  romantic  spirit  of  the  old  chivalrous  manners  was  ex 
tinguished  and  before  the  modern  standard  of  refinement  was 
introduced."— Shaw's  *  History  of  English  Literature,'  p.  343. 

§  Quoted  in  Pashley's  '  Pauperism  and  the  Poor  Laws,'  p. 
252. 


18  NOVELS  AND  NOVELISTS. 

almost  as  much  adscriptus  glebce  as  a  Russian  serf  be 
fore  his  late  emancipation ;  and  the  reason  was,  be 
cause  if  he  removed  from  his  parish  in  search  of 
employment,  he  was  likely  to  become  chargeable  to 
the  new  parish,  township,  or  place  to  which  he  mi 
grated.  This  evil  was  in  some  respect  mitigated  by 
an  Act  passed  in  1795,  35  Geo.  III.  c.  101,  the  pre 
amble  of  which  states  that  industrious  poor  persons 
chargeable  to  the  parish  where  they  live,  "  are,  for  the 
most  part,  compelled  to  live  in  their  own  parishes  and 
townships,  and  are  not  permitted  to  inhabit  elsewhere, 
under  pretence  that  they  are  likely  to  become  charge 
able  to  the  parish  "  where  they  went  for  the  purpose 
of  getting  employment. 

The  condition  of  the  laborer,  which  from  natural 
causes  is  generally  bad,  was  made  worse  by  vicious 
legislation.  The  Law  of  Settlement,  which  then,  and 
indeed  until  recently  prevailed,  made  it  the  interest 
of  landowners  to  pull  down  cottages  or  build  as  few 
as  possible,  in  order  to  diminish  the  pressure  of  the 
poor-rates.  In  Burn's  History  of  the  Poor  Laws, 
published  in  1764,  he  says  that  "  in  practice  the  office 
of  an  overseer  of  the  poor  seems  to  be  understood  to 
be  this  ....  to  pull  down  cottages  and  to  drive  out 
as  many  inhabitants  and  admit  as  few  as  possibly 


CONDITION   OF  THE   LABORER.  19 

they  can ;  that  is,  to  depopulate  the  parish,  in  order 
to  lessen  the  poor-rate." 

"  Where  then,  ah  !  where  shall  poverty  reside, 
To  'scape  the  pressure  of  contiguous  pride  ? " 

The  price  of  wheat  was  no  doubt  much  lower  in 
the  last  century  than  it  has  been  since,  the  average 
value  between  1720  and  1750  being  considerably  be 
low  40s.  a  quarter,  and  this  might  seem  at  first  sight 
to  indicate  that  the  laborer  had  a  greater  command  of 
the  necessaries  of  life.  But  it  proves  nothing  unless 
we  know  its  exchangeable  value ;  that  is,  the  proportion 
it  bore  to  the  value  of  other  commodities,  and  the 
price  of  labor,  or,  in  other  words,  the  rate  of  wages.* 

As  to  the  upper  classes,  I  know  few  books  that 
leave  a  more  painful  impression  upon  the  reader  than 
the  volumes  which  contain  the  letters  of  Horace  "Wai- 
pole,  in  which  we  see  all  the  froth  and  scum  that 
floated  to  the  surface  of  what  is  called  Good  Society, 
and  can  form  a  tolerable  idea  of  what  was  fermenting 
in  the  mass  below.  "With  all  his  persiflage  and  cyni 
cism,  he  at  all  events  may  be  trusted  as  a  witness  who 

*  The  average  prices  of  wheat  per  quarter,  from  1746  to 
1765,  was  32s.  3^.,  and  from  1771  to  1774,  was  45s.  8d.  Even 
when  the  price  was  above  80s.,  toward  the  end  of  the  century, 
the  wages  of  the  laborer  did  not  exceed  8s.  a  week. 


20  NOVELS  AND  NOVELISTS. 

does  not  invent,  but  retails  the  current  scandals  of  the 
day.  And  what  a  picture  he  gives  us  of  the  hollow- 
ness,  the  heartlessness,  and  the  vice,  of  fashionable 
life! 

The  Rev.  Charles  Kingsley,  in  his  preface  to 
Henry  Brooke's  'Fool  of  Quality,'  originally  pub 
lished  in  1763,  and  republished  by  him  in  1859,  asks, 
"  Who,  in  looking  round  a  family  portrait-gallery,  has 
not  remarked  the  difference  between  the  heads  of  the 
seventeenth  and  those  of  the  eighteenth  century? 
The  former  are  of  the  same  type  as  our  own,  and  with 
the  same  strong  and  varied  personality;  the  latter 
painfully  like  both  to  each  other,  and  to  an  oil-flask ; 
the  jaw  round,  weak,  and  sensual,  the  forehead  nar 
row  and  retreating.  Had  the. race  really  degenerated 
for  a  while,  or  was  the  lower  type  adopted  intention 
ally  out  of  compliment  to  some  great  personage  ? "  I 
should  be  disposed  to  doubt  that  the  portraits  of  the 
seventeenth  century  "  are  of  the  same  type  as  our 
own."  It  is  impossible  not  to  be  struck  with  the 
greater  strength  of  face  and  feature — with  the  square, 
massive  forehead  and  resolute  expression.  And  this 
we  might  expect  of  the  heroes  of  the  civil  war  and 
the  grand  theologians  and  poets  of  the  century — of 
men  like  Cromwell  and  Hampden;  Andrews  and 
Jeremy  Taylor;  and  Shakespeare  and  Milton. 


RELIGION.  21 

What  would  be  thought  now  but  little  more  than 
a  decent  compliance  with  religious  worship,  such  as 
attendance  at  the  Sacrament  and  family  prayers,  was 
in  the  last  century  considered  the  badge  of  a  Puritan 
and  a  Methodist.  "  ^Nothing  is  so  sad,"  says  a  French 
writer  in  a  recent  work,  "  as  the  religious  history  of 
the  eighteenth  century.  Piety  languishes ;  Science 
there  is  none,  at  least  on  the  side  of  the  defenders  of 
Christianity.  In  England  and  Germany  a  parching 
wind  blows  over  hearts  and  minds.  There  is  preached 
in  the  Protestant  pulpits  a  religion  without  grandeur, 
without  mysteries,  which  has  neither  the  boldness  of 
philosophy  nor  that  of  faith."  '  The  phraseology  of 
the  evangelical  School,  with  which  we  are  so  familiar, 
was  deemed  strange  and  unorthodox,  and  "  the  new 
birth  and  the  operations  of  grace"  were  the  standing 
jokes  of  novelists,  who  had,  however,  in  the  extrava 
gance  of  "Wliitefield  and  his  followers,  too  good  an 
excuse  to  ridicule  doctrines  which  have  since  been 
illustrated  by  some  of  the  most  exemplary  men  ot 
whom  the  Church  of  England  can  boast. 

The  laxity  of  the  age  is,  I  think,  strongly  shown 
in  the  strange  mixture  of  religion  and  immorality 

*  PressensC.  L'figlise  ct  la  Revolution  F^ancaise.  But  we 
must  not  forget  that  in  the  eighteenth  century  appeared  Bishop 
Butler's  immortal  work,  '  The  Analogy  of  Religion.' 


22  NOVELS  AND  NOVELISTS. 

which  we  see  exhibited,  not  only  in  the  lives  but  in 
the  writings  of  some  of  the  most  distinguished  men. 
It  shows  how  little  they  were  able  rightly  to  appre 
ciate  the  requirements  of  unworldliness  and  purity 
enjoined  in  the  Gospel.  Their  Christianity  was  in 
general  only  skin-deep  ;  and  while  they  made  a  merit 
of  professing  to  believe  the  doctrines  of  Revelation, 
they  acted  as  if  they  had  no  higher  code  to  guide 
them  than  heathen  Ethics.  I  am  not  speaking  of 
mere  infirmities  to  which  the  best  of  erring  men 
are  liable,  of  small  blemishes  which  detract  from  the 
purity  of  life— although  one  is  grieved  to  think  that 
Addison  had  not  strength  to  resist  the  temptation 
of  wine — but  of  a  general  looseness  of  conduct  and 
language  which  would  now  be  considered  hardly  com 
patible  with  any  thing  like  religious  profession ;  but 
which  was  not  thought  so  then.  When  one  thinks 

O 

of  the  man,  the  sermons  of  Dean  Swift,  although  in 

themselves  excellent,  seem  to  be  a  mockery,  and  we 

can  fancy  them  written  by  the  author  of  a  c  Tale  of  a 

\    Tub '  with  a  grin  of  derision   on  his  face.*      Defoe 

*  Swift's  '  Sermon  on  the  Trinity '  is  one  of  the  best  I  ever 
read  on  the  subject.  The  following  passage  sums  up  the  objec 
tions  and  the  answer :-  "  Since  the  world  abounds  with  pestilent 
books  written  against  the  doctrine  of  the  Trinity,  it  is  fit  to 
inform  you  that  the  authors  of  them  proceed  wholly  upon  a 
mistake ;  they  would  show  how  impossible  it  is  that  three  can 


SWIFT'S  SERMONS.  23 

wrote  religious  tracts  and  sermons — i  Religious  Court 
ship  '  and  the  '  Family  Instructor ' — as  to  the  last  of 
which  he  professes  to  have  a  firm  belief  that  "  he  was 
not  without  a  more  than  ordinary  presence  and  assist 
ance  of  the  Divine  Spirit  in  the  performance ; "  but 
he  is  also  the  author  of  i  Moll  Flanders,'  c  Roxana,' 
and  i  Colonel  Jack.'  Most  certainly  Steele  was  not  a 
bad  man — he  was  amiable,  affectionate,  and  kindly— 
and  the  tone  of  his  papers  in  the  '  Tatler '  is  unexcep- 
tionably  good.  But  he  was  notoriously  fond  of  the 

be  one,  and  one  can  be  three ;  whereas,  the  Scripture  saith  no 
such  thing,  at  least  in  that  manner  they  would  make  it;  but 
only  that  there  is  some  kind  of  unity  and  distinction  in  the 
divine  nature  which  mankind  cannot  possibly  comprehend: 
thus  the  whole  doctrine  is  short  and  plain,  and  in  itself  inca 
pable  of  any  controversy,  since  God  himself  hath  pronounced 
the  fact,  but  wholly  concealed  the  manner.  And  therefore  many 
divines,  who  thought  fit  to  answer  those  wicked  books,  have 
been  mistaken  too  by  answering  fools  in  their  folly,  and  endeav 
oring  to  explain  a  mystery  which  God  intended  to  keep  secret 
from  us."  The  sermon  concludes  thus :  "  May  God  of  His 
infinite  mercy  inspire  us  with  true  faith  in  every  article  and 
mystery  of  our  religion,  so  as  to  dispose  us  to  do  what  is  pleas 
ing  in  His  sight :  and  this  we  pray  through  Jesus  Christ,  to 
whom  with  the  Father  and  the  Holy  Ghost  be  all  honor  and 
glory,  now,  and  for  evermore,  Amen."  There  is  an  excellent 
sermon  by  Swift  on  the  text,  "  The  wisdom  of  this  world  is 
foolishness  with  God  ;  "  and  another  upon  '  Sleeping  in  Church.' 
In  his  '  Thoughts  on  Various  Subjects,'  he  wittily  asks,  "  Query, 
whether  churches  are  not  dormitories  of  the  living,  as  well  as 
of  the  dead  ?  » 


24  NOVELS  AND  NOVELISTS. 

bottle  and  constantly  in  debt.  Dr.  Johnson  said  leni 
ently  of  him,  "  Steele,  I  believe,  practises  the  lighter 
vices."  He  was  not,  therefore,  the  kind  of  "person 
from  whom  we  should  expect  a  grave,  religious  trea 
tise.  And  yet  Steele  wrote  *  The  Christian  Hero.' 
If  ever  there  was  a  free  liver,  to  say  nothing  of  the 
loose  morality  of  his  works — his  genius  and  power  are 
quite  a  different  matter — it  was  Fielding  :  and  yet  no 
writer  could  discourse  in  a  more  edifying  manner 
about  morality,  virtue,  and  religion.  What  shall  we 
say  of  Sterne  ?  He,  like  Swift,  was  by  profession  a 
clergyman,  and  therefore,  of  course,  obliged  to  be  a 
teacher  of  religion.  But  his  life  gave  the  lie  to  his 
profession,  and  he  behaved  like  a  brute  to  his  wife. 
He  seems  to  have  thought  there  was  no  inconsistency 
in  preaching  and  publishing  sermons,  and  writing 
'  Tristram  Shandy.' 

There  is  nothing  in  which  the  difference  between 
the  last  century  and  the  present  is  more  strikingly 
shown  than  in  the  delineation  of  love.  As  a  mere 
natural  instinct,  love,  of  course,  is  the  same  in  all  ages 
and  in  all  climes,  and  fulfils  the  main  object  for  which 
it  was  designed  in  the  order  of  Providence,  which  is 
the  preservation  of  the  species.  But  the  style  and 
mode  of  its  expression  differ  as  widely  as  it  is  possible 
to  conceive.  In  the  whole  range  of  Greek  and  Ro- 


LOVE.  25 

man  literature  I  hardly  know  a  passage  where  love  is 
described  as  a  purifying  passion  of  the  soul.*  And 
nothing  can  be  more  frigid  than  the  language  of  lo^e 
when  lovers  meet  in  the  Greek  tragedians,  although 
its  power  as  a  Divinity  is  celebrated  in  chorus  and  in 
song.  Among  the  Romans,  if  we  except  the  exquisite 
description  of  the  love  of  Dido  for  ^Eneas,  it  is  almost 
always  the  language  of  desire.  And  to  come  to  the 
eighteenth  century,  we  find  in  its  literature  little,  if 
any  thing,  of  the  romance  of  love — such  love  as  we 
read  of  in  the  '  Bride  of  Lammermoor '  and  f  Henri 
etta  Temple ' — and  still  less  of  its  elevating  influence 
on  the  heart. 

"  To  an  exact  perfection  they  have  brought 
The  action  love — the  passion  is  forgot." 

There  is  little  trace  of -such  an  effect  of  love  as  is 
described  in  the  beautiful  lines  of  Dryclen  in  his 
4  Cimon  and  Iphigenia:' 

"  Love  taught  him  shame,  and  shame  with  love  at  strife 
Soon  taught  the  sweet  civilities  of  life  " — 

Ko  writer  then  thought  of  depicting  love  as 
Coleridge  has  depicted  and  glorified  it  in  the  fol 
lowing  passage : 

*  Let  those  who  wish  to  see  what  Greek  writers  could  say  of 
^ove,  read  the  '  Deipnosophists '  of  Athenocus,  Book  xiii. 


2G  NOVELS  AND  NOVELISTS. 

"  That  enduring  personal  attachment  so  beauti 
fully  delineated  by  Erin's  sweet  Melodist,  and  still 
mare  touchingly  perhaps  in  the  well-known  ballad 
1  John  Anderson  my  Jo  John,'  in  addition  to  a  depth 
and  constancy  of  character  of  no  every-day  occur 
rence,  supposes  a  peculiar  sensibility  and  tenderness 
of  nature,  a  constitutional  communicativeness  and 
utterance  of  heart  and  soul ;  a  delight  in  the  detail 
of  sympathy,  in  the  outward  and  visible  signs  of  the 
sacrament  within — to  count,  as  it  were,  the  pulses  of 
the  life  of  love.  But,  above  all,  it  supposes  a  soul 
which  even  in  the  pride  and  summer-tide  of  life,  even 
ia  the  lustihood  of  health  and  strength,  had  felt  often- 
est  and  prized  highest  that  which  age  cannot  take 
away,  and  which  in  all  our  lovings  is  the  love ;  I  mean 
that  willing  sense  of  the  unsufficingness  of  the  self  for 
itself,  winch  predisposes  a  generous  nature  to  see  in 
the  total  being  of  another  the  supplement  and  com 
pletion  of  its  own ;  that  quiet,  perpetual  seeking 
which  the  presence  of  that  beloved  object  modulates, 
not  suspends ;  where  the  heart  momently  finds,  and 
finding  again  seeks  on  ;  lastly,  when  '  life's  changeful 
orb  has  passed  the  full,'  a  confirmed  faith  in  the  no 
bleness  of  humanity  thus  brought  home  and  pressed 
as  it  were  to  the  very  bosom  of  hourly  experience;  it 
supposes,  I  say,  a  heart-felt  reverence  for  worth,  not 


COLERIDGE   ON  LOVE.  27 

the  less  deep  because  divested  of  its  solemnity  by 
habit,  by  familiarity,  by  mutual  infirmities,  and  even 
by  a  feeling  of  modesty  which  will  arise  in  delicate 
minds  when  they  are  unconscious  of  possessing  the 
same  or  the  correspondent  excellence  in  their  own 
characters.  In  short,  there  must  be  a  mind  which, 
while  it  feels  the  beautiful  and  the  excellent  in  the 
beloved  as  its  own,  and  by  the  right  of  love  appro 
priates  it,  can  call  goodness  its  playfellow  ;  and  dares 
make  sport  of  time  and  infirmity  while  in  the  person 
of  a  thousandfoldly  endeared  partner  we  feel  for  aged 
virtue  the  caressing  fondness  that  belongs  to  the  inno 
cence  of  childhood,  and  repeat  the  same  attentions 
and  tender  courtesies  which  had  been  dictated  by  the 
same  affection  to  the  same  object,  when  attired  in 
feminine  loveliness  or  in  manly  beauty."  ~x~ 

The  term  which  best  expresses  the  idea  under 
which  the  writers  in  the  early  part  of  the  last  century 
expressed  love,  and  indeed  all  the  great  emotions  of 
the  human  soul,  is  conventionality.  "  One  would 
like,"  says  De  Quincey,f  "  to  see  a  searching  investi 
gation  into  the  state  of  society  in  Anne's  days — its 

*  Poetical  Works,  vol.  ii.  p.  120. 

t  '  Essay  on  Schlosser's  Literary  History  of  the  Eighteenth 
Century ; '  one  of  the  best  and  most  amusing  of  this  great 
writer's  essays. 


28  NOVELS  AND  NOVELISTS. 

extreme  artificiality,  its  sheepish  reserve  upon  all  the 
impassioned  grandeurs,  its  shameless  outrages  upon 
all  the  decencies  of  human  nature.  Certain  it  is  that 
Addison  (because  everybody)  was  in  the  meanest  of 
conditions  which  blushes  at  the  very  expression  of 
sympathy  with  the  lovely,  the  noble,  or  the  impas 
sioned.  The  wretches  were  ashamed  of  their  own 
nature,  and  perhaps  with  reason;  for  in  their  own 
denaturalized  hearts  they  read  only  a  degraded 
nature.  Addison,  in  particular,  shrank  from  every 
bold  and  every  profound  expression  as  from  an  offence 
against  good  taste.  He  dared  not  for  his  life  have 
used  the  word  '  passion,'  except  in  the  vulgar  sense  of 
an  angry  paroxysm.  He  durst  as  soon  have  danced 
a  hornpipe  on  the  top  of  the  £  monument '  as  have 
talked  of  '  rapturous  emotion.'  "What  would  he  have 
said?  Why,  ' sentiments  that  were  of  a  nature  to 
prove  agreeable  after  an  unusual  rate.'  In  their  odi 
ous  verses  the  creatures  of  that  age  talk  of  love  as 
something  that  '  burns  '  them.*  You  suppose  at  first 

*  When  a  fellow-scholar  brought  to  young  Henry  Brooke, 
the  author  of  the  'Fool  of  Quality,'  born  in  1708,  an  Ode  to  the 
Moon,  which  broke  off  with  the  line — 

"  Ah,  why  doth  Phoebe  love  to  shine  by  night  ?  " 
— the  precocious  boy  immediately  wrote  under  it — 
"  Because  the  sex  look  best  by  candle-light.'1 


DE   QUINCEY  0^  THE  AGE.  29 

that  they  are  discoursing  of  tallow-candles,  though 
you  cannot  imagine  by  what  impertinence  they  ad 
dress  yoU)  that  are  not  a  tallow-chandler,  upon  such 
painful  subjects.  And  wrhen  they  apostrophize  the 
woman  of  their  heart  (for  you  are  to  understand  that 
they  pretend  to  such  an  organ)  they  beseech  her  to 
ease  their  pain.  Can  human  meanness  descend 
lower?  As  if  the  man,  being  ill  from  pleurisy,  had 
a  right  to  take  a  lady  for  one  of  the  dressers  in  a 
hospital,  whose  duty  it  would  be  to  fix  a  burgundy 
pitch-plaster  between  his  shoulders." 

In  an  Essay  in  the  c  Tatler '  Steele  says :  "  If  a 
man  of  any  delicacy  were  to  attend  the  discourses  of 
the  young  fellows  of  this  age,  he  would  believe  that 
there  were  none  but  prostitutes  to  make  the  objects 
of  passion.  .  .  .  But  Cupid  is  not  only  blind  at 
present,  but  dead  drunk ;  he  has  lost  all  his  faculties : 
else  how  could  Clelia  be  so  long  a  maid  with  that 
agreeable  behavior?  Corinna  with  that  sprightly 

Richardson  mentioned  in  one  of  his  letters  to  Edwards,  a  for 
gotten  sonneteer,  that  Miss  Highmore  had  set  herself  on  fire, 
and  scorched  herself  with  the  curling-irons.  Upon  which  the 
poet,  in  answer,  supposes  that  the  accident  must  have  happened, 
not  from  the  heat  of  the  irons,  but  from  the  love- verses  she  used 
as  curling-papers ;  and  that  the  blaze  happening  on  the  left 
side  was  extinguished  by  the  prevalent  force  of  the  cold  about 
her  heart.— « Correspondence  of  Richardson,'  vol.  iii.  35,  37. 
Such  was  sentiment  in  those  days. 


30  NOVELS  AND  NOVELISTS. 

wit  ?  Lesbia  with  that  heavenly  voice  ?  And  Sacha- 
rissa  with  all  those  excellences  in  one  person,  fre 
quent  the  park,  the  play,  and  murder  those  poor  tits 
that  drag  her  to  public  places,  and  not  a  man  turn 
pale  at  her  appearance  ? "  In  one  of  her  letters  in 
Richardson's  novel  of  '  Sir  Charles  Grandison,'  Har 
riet  Byron  says  :  "  And  pray  may  I  not  ask  if  the  taste 
of  the  age  among  men  is  not  dress,  equipage,  and  fop 
pery  ?  Is  the*  cultivation  of  fhe  mind  any  part  of  their 
study  ?  The  men  in  short  are  sunk,  my  dear,  and 
the  women  but  barely  swim." 

Admiration  of  the  sex  was  shown  not  by  deep  and 
respectful  homage,  but  by  extravagance  of  conduct, 
It  was  the  fashion  to  inscribe  the  names  of  reigning 
beauties  on  drinking-glasses  with  the  point  of  a  dia 
mond.*  Goldsmith  tells  us,  in  his  <  Life  of  Beau 
Kash,'  that  in  the  days  when  his  hero  was  young,  a 
fellow  would  drink  no  wine  but  what  was  strained 
through  his  mistress's  chemise  (nasty  beast !  ),  and  he 
would  eat  a  pair  of  her  shoes  tossed  upon  a  fricassee. 
This  last  feat  was  repeated  in  the  middle  of  the  cen 
tury.  In  a  paper  of  the  '  Connoisseur,'  by  the  Earl 
of  Cork  (1754),  we  are  told  that  he  was  present  at  an 
entertainment  where  a  celebrated  fille  dejoie  was  one 
of  the  party,  and  her  shoe  was  pulled  off  by  a  young 
*<Tatler,' No.  24. 


EXTRAVAGANCE  OF  CONDUCT.  31 

man  who  filled  it  with  champagne  and  drank  it  off  to 
her  health.  "  In  this  delicious  draught  he  was  imme 
diately  pledged  by  the  rest,  and  then,  to  carry  the 
compliment  still  further,  he  ordered  the  shoe  itself  to 
be  dressed  and  served  up  for  supper.  The  cook  set 
himself  seriously  to  work  upon  it ;  he  pulled  the 
upper  part  of  it  (which  was  of  damask)  into  line 
shreds,  and  tossed  it  up  in  a  ragout ;  minced  the  sole, 
cut  the  wooden  heel  into  very  thin  slices,  fried  them 
in  butter,  and  placed  them  round  the  dish  for  garnish. 
The  company,  you  may  be  sure,  testified  their  affec 
tion  for  the  lady  by  eating  very  heartily  of  this  ex 
quisite  impromptu." 

For  the  difference  between  the  past  and  present 
century  in  the  mode  of  regarding  the  passion  of  love, 
two  causes  may  be  specially  assigned.  First,  that  the 
habits  of  the  last  age  were  libertine,  and  men  acted 
upon  the  odious  maxim — 

"  And  every  woman  is  at  heart  a  rake." 

Xo  one  who  is  at  all  conversant  with  the  literature 
of  the  age  will  deny  this;  and  nothing  can  be  con 
ceived  which  would  have  a  more  poisonous  influence 
upon  manners  and  morals  than  such  a  theory.  Men 
talked  before  women  of  things  which  one  would  havej 
thought  all  decency  and  respect  for  the  sex  would, 


32  NOVELS  AND  NOVELISTS. 

have  induced  them  to  conceal.  They  boasted  of  their 
intrigues,  as  if  seduction  and  adultery  were  meritorious 
actions  and  titles  of  honor.  In i  Sir  Charles  Grandison,' 
Harriet  Byron  says,  in  one  of  her  letters  to  Lucy 
Selby,  "  I  am  very  much  mistaken,  if  every  woman 
would  not  find  her  account,  if  she  wishes  herself  to  be 
thought  well  of,  in  discouraging  every  reflection  that 
may  have  a  tendency  to  debase  or  expose  the  sex  in 
general.  How  can  a  man  be  suffered  to  boast  of  his 
vileness  to  one.  woman  in  the  presence  of  another, 
without  a  rebuke,  that  should  put  it  to  the  proof 
whether  the  boaster  was  or  was  not  past  blushing?  " 
Few  women,  in  that  age,  had  the  courage  and  the 
sense  of  Stella,  of  whom  Swift  tells  us  in  his  '  Charac 
ter  of  Mrs.  Johnson,'  that  when  "  a  coxcomb  of  the 
pert  kind  "  began  to  utter  some  doubles  entendres  in 
the  company  of  herself  and  several  other  ladies,  and 
"  the  rest  flapped  their  fans,  and  used  the  other  com 
mon  expedients  practised  in  such  cases,  of  appearing 
not  to  mind  or  comprehend  whatever  was  said,"  she 
sternly  rebuked  him,  and  said :  "  Sir,  all  these  ladies 
and  I  understand  your  meaning  very  well,  having,  in 
spite  of  our  care,  too  often  met  with  those  of  your 
sex  who  wanted  manners  and  good  sense.  But,  believe 
me,  neither  virtuous  nor  even  vicious  women  love 
such  kind  of  conversation.  However,  I  will  leave 


SWIFT'S   STELLA.  83 

you,  and  report  your  behavior,  and  whatever  visit  I 
make,  I  shall -first  inquire  at  the  door  whether  you  are 
in  the  house,  that  I  maybe  sure  to  avoid  you."  And 
yet,  strangely  enough,  in  the  short  collection  of  '  Bons 
Mots  de  Stella,'  which  is  given  by  Swift,  there  is  one 
in  which  she  made  a  joke  of  an  intolerably  vulgar  and 
offensive  expression,  which  Dr.  Sheridan  disgraced 
himself  by  uttering  in  her  presence.* 

We  find  the  novelists  introducing  episodes  which 
consist  of  stories  told  by  women  of  their  past  lives,  in 
which  the  most  unblushing  details  of  profligacy  are 
given;  and  the  curious  circumstance  is,  that  they  do 
so  with  apparently  an  utter  unconsciousness  that  they 
offend  against  propriety  by  the  narrative,  however 
much  they  may  have  offended  against  it  by  their  acts. 

In  the  '  Spiritual  Quixote,'  published  in  the  mid 
dle  of  the  century,  the  author,  who  was  a  clergyman, 
makes  every  lady  in  whom  he  wishes  the  reader  to 
take  interest,  give  the  history,  or  others  tell  the  his 
tory  of  her  past  life — and,  however  modest  and  re- 

0 

spectable  she  may  have  been,  she  has  always  been  the 
object  of  libertine  attempts.  When  she  tells  the 

*  The  difference,  however,  between  the  two  cases  is  this,  and 
it  serves  as  an  illustration  of  the  manners  of  the  time.  The 
language  in  the  one  case  was  licentious ;  in  the  other,  simply 
indecent.  Stella  had  too  much  virtue  to  tolerate  the  one,  and 
too  little  refinement  to  resent  the  other. 


34  NOVELS  AND  NOVELISTS. 

story  herself,  she  does  it  with  a  plainness  of  speech 
that  is  astonishing.  Such  is  the  narrative  of  Miss 
Townsend  with  whom  "Wildgoose,  the  hero,  falls  in 
love ;  and  such  is  the  story  of  Mrs.  Rivers,  the  charm 
ing  wife  of  Mr.  Rivers,  as  told  by  her  husband,  who 
has  settled  down  with  her  in  an  old  country  house, 
and  taken  to  farming.  One  of  the  chapters  is  headed 
"  Narrative  of  a  Licentious  Amour,"  and  this  narra 
tive  is  supposed  to  be  related  by  a  gentleman  in  pres 
ence  of  several  respectable  -unmarried  ladies  who 
make  comments  upon  it  as  it  proceeds. 

Even  in  the  '  Female  Quixote,'  written  by  a  lady, 
which  is  as  free  as  any  of  the  old  novels  from  licen 
tiousness,  we  have  the  history  of  Miss  Groves  told 
with  apparent  unconsciousness  of  its  impropriety. 
'  Peregrine  Pickle '  belongs  to  a  different  school,  and 
in  it,  of  course,  we  might  expect  any  thing.  There  is 
introduced  a  long  episode  called  £  The  Memoirs  of  a 
Lady  of  Quality,'  or,  in  other  words,  the  adventures 
of  a  kept  mistress,  who  in  early  life  was  married  to  a 
nobleman.*  And  the  reason  for  mentioning  them 

*  The  lady  of  quality  was  Lady  Vane,  daughter  of  Mr. 
Hawes,  a  South-Sea  director,  first  married  to  Lord  William 
Hamilton,  and  secondly  to  Lord  Vane.  See  '  Walpole's  Letters,' 
edited  by  Cunningham,  vol.  i.  p.  91.  It  was  not  an  uncommon 
practice  to  make  living  persons  figure  in  fiction,  and  describe 
their  adventures  and — amours.  In  1780,  Sir  Herbert  Croft,  Bart., 


WANT   OF  MODESTY.  35 

here  is,  that  although  they  are  the  frankest  possible 
confession  of  a  life  of  profligacy,  they  are  told  by 
"  her  Ladyship  "  after  she  has  become  repentant  and 
virtuous  "  in  a  select  party,"  in  hopes  that  they  may 
perceive  that,  however  much  her  head  might  have 
erred,  her  heart  had  always  been  uncorrupted ! 

Lord  Chesterfield  says,  speaking  of  the  reign  of 
Queen  Anne,  "No  woman  of  fashion  could  receive 
any  man  at  her  morning  toilet  without  alarming  her 
husband  and  his  friends."  But  this  I  do  not  believe. 
It  is  not  likely  that  women  of  fashion  denied  them 
selves  in  such  a  case  a  liberty  which  women  of  the 
middle  classes  were  freely  allowed  to  use.  In  Mrs. 
Heywood's  novel  of  '  Miss  Betsy  Thoughtless,'  of 
which  I  shall  speak  more  particularly  hereafter,  we 
find  the  heroine,  a  young  unmarried  lady,  receiving 
as  a  matter  of  course  male  visitors  in  her  dressing- 
room  while  performing  her  toilet.  At  Bath,  ladies 
bathed  in  public,  and,  if  we  were  to  take  literally  the 
description  in  Miss  Burney's  '  Evelina,'  we  might  sup 
pose  that  the  only  part  of  the  body  that  was  covered 

published  a  novel  called  '  Love  and  Madness,  a  Story  too  true, 
in  a  series  of  letters  between  parties  whose  names  would  perhaps 
be  mentioned  were  they  less  known  or  less  lamented.'  This 
purported  to  be  the  correspondence  between  Miss  Ray,  the  mis 
tress  of  Lord  Sandwich,  and  the  Rev.  Mr.  Hackman,  who  shot 
her  at  the  door  of  the  opera,  and  was  afterward  hanged. 


36  NOVELS  AND  NOVELISTS. 

was  the  head — for  Evelina  says :  "  As  to  the  pump- 
room  I  was  amazed  at  the  public  exhibition  of  the 
ladies  in  the  bath ;  it  is  true  that  their  heads  are  cov 
ered  with  bonnets,  but  the  very  idea  of  being  seen  in 
such  a  situation  by  whoever  pleases  to  look  is  indeli 
cate."  But  we  can  correct  this  impression  from  the 
account  given  of  the  same  scene  by  another  young 
lady,  Miss  Lydia  Melford,  in  c  Humphry  Clinker :' 
"  Right  under  the  pump-room  window  is  the  king's 
bath — a  large  cistern — where  you  see  the  patients  up 
to  their  neck  in  the  hot  water.  The  ladies  wear 
jackets  and  petticoats  of  brown  linen  with  chip  hats, 
in  which  they  fix  their  handkerchiefs  to  wipe  the 
sweat  from  their  faces  ;  but  ....  they  look  so  flushed 
and  so  frightful,  that  I  always  turn  my  eyes  another 
way." 

No  complaint  was  more  common  than  that  of  in 
sults  offered  to  women  when  travelling  in  a  public 
conveyance,  by  the  loose .  and  indecent  talk  of  their 
male  companions.  And  they  were  not  always  so  for 
tunate  as  to  find  an  Ephraim  the  Quaker,  who  was  in 
the  stage-coach  with  the  Spectator  when  a  recruiting 
officer  began  to  be  impertinent  to  a  young  lady,  and 
who  was  abashed  by  his  rebuke :  "  Thy  mirth,  friend, 
savoreth  of  folly ;  thou  art  a  person  of  a  light  mind  ; 
thy  drum  is  a  type  of  thee,  it  soundeth  because  it  is 


INSULTS  TO  WOMEN.  37 

empty.  Verily,  it  is  not  from  thy  fulness  but  thy 
emptiness  that  thou  hast  spoken  this  day."  *  And  at 
places  of  public  resort,  like  Ranelagh  and  Vauxhall, 
ladies  were  exposed  to  the  grossest  insults  from 
"  pretty  fellows,"  and  "fine  gentlemen,"  as  will  be 
shown  more  fully  hereafter. 

A  second  cause  was,  that  a  woman  was  regarded 

'  O 

chiefly  for  her  beauty  and  accomplishments,  and  little 
honor  was  paid  to  her  virtues  and  understanding. 
Steele  was  the  author  of  those  clays,  who  seems  to 
have  regarded  women  with  most  respect,  and  to  have 
been  most  disposed  to  look  upon  them  as  something 
better  than  playthings  for  amusement  or  instruments 
of  desire.  "  The  love  of  a  woman,"  he  says,  in  one 
of  his  papers  in  the  '  Tatler,'  "  is  inseparable  from 
some  esteem  of  her,  and  she  is  naturally  the  object  of 
affection ;  the  woman  who  has  your  esteem  has  also 
some  degree  of  your  love.  A  man  that  dotes  on  a 

*  '  Spectator,'  No.  132.  I  remember  once  in  the  old  days  of 
coaching,  being  on  the  top  of  a  coach,  when  the  driver  told  me 
that  the  day  before  there  was  a  Quaker  on  the  box,  and  a  man 
behind  him  who  was  ridiculing  the  Bible.  The  Quaker  remained 
silent  until,  being  addressed  by  the  stranger  thus:  "Come, 
old  square-toes,  you  say  nothing :  what  do  you  think  of  the 
story  of  David  and  Goliath  ?  Do  you  believe  that  David  killed 
the  giant  with  a  pebble  ? "  he  replied,  "  I'll  tell  thee  what, 
friend,  if  Goliath's  forehead  was  as  soft  as  thy  pate,  there  could 
have  been  no  difficulty  in  the  matter." 


38  NOVELS  AND  NOVELISTS. 

woman  for  her  beauty  will  whisper  his  friend,  i  That 
creature  has  a  great  deal  of  wit -when  you  are  well  ac 
quainted  with  her.'-  And  if  you  examine  the  bottom 
of  your  esteem  for  a  woman  you  will  find  you  have  a 
greater  opinion  of  her  beauty  than  anybody  else." 
This  last  sentence  is  certainly  equivocal — for  it  may 
mean  that  esteem  is  founded  upon  admiration  of  the 
gift  of  beauty — but  I  think  it  has  a  nobler  and  pro- 
founder  sense,  that  a  man  who  esteems  a  woman  finds 
in  her  a  beauty  which  is  unseen  by  others.  The  idea 
is  the  converse  of  that  expressed  by  Wither!  in  the 
two  charming  lines — 

"  If  she  be  not  so  to  me, 
What  care  I  how  fair  she  be  ? " 

A  certain  degree  of  license  must  always  IDC  allowed 
to  the  stage,  and  it  w^ould  not  be  fair  to  consider  it  an 
exact  test  of  the  modesty  and  decorum  of  a  particular 
period.  We  ourselves  should  be  sorry  to  be  judged 
hereafter  by  such  exhibitions  as  take  place  in  the 
ballet,  where  decency  is  outraged  without  a  blush 
before  the  eyes  of  wives,  mothers,  and  daughters.  But 
if  some  future  writer  were  to  describe  them,  and  then 
go  on  to  say  that  they  were  patronized  and  applauded 
by  English  ladies,  it  would  be  very  difficult  to  resist 
the  inference  that  delicacy  and  purity  among  us  had 


WOMEN  AND   THE  STxlGE.  39 

sunk  to  a  very  low  ebb.  And  when  we  look  at  the 
plays  which  were  acted  at  the  theatres  during  the  last 
century  we  are  filled  with  astonishment.  Grave  ma 
trons  and  young  virgins  listened  to  and  laughed  at 
jokes  as  broad  and  coarse  as  those  of  Aristophanes, 
and  heard  without  a  blush  the  language  of  the  stables 
and  the  stews.  "It  is,"  says  the  '  Spectator'  (A.  D. 
1712),  "  one  of  the  most  unaccountable  things  in  our 
age,  that  the  lewdness  of  our  theatres  should  be  so 
much  complained  of,  so  well  exposed,  and  so  little 
redressed  ....  As  matters  stand  at  present,  multi 
tudes  are  shut  out  from  this  noble  diversion,  by  reason 
of  those  abuses  and  corruptions  that  accompany  it. 
A  father  is  often  afraid  that  his  daughter  should  be 
ruined  by  those  entertainments  which  were  invented 
for  the  accomplishment  and  refining  of  human  na 
ture  ....  Cuckoldom  is  the  basis  of  most  of  our 
modern  plays.  If  an  alderman  appears  upon  the  stage 
you  may  be  sure  that  it  is  in  order  to  be  cuckolded — 
knights  and  baronets,  country  squires,  and  justices  of 
the  quorum  come  up  to  town  for  no  other  purpose  .... 
The  accomplished  gentleman  upon  the  English  stage 
is  the  person  that  is  familiar  with  other  men's  wives 
and  indifferent  to  his  own,  as  the  fine  woman  is  gen 
erally  a  composition  of  sprightliness  and  falsehood." 
Lady  Cowper  tells  us  in  her  '  Diary '  (1715),  that 


40  NOVELS  AND  NOVELISTS.    * 

she  went  with  the  Princess  of  Wales  to  see  the  play 
of  the  i  Wanton  Wife  '—better  known  as  the  c  Amorous 
Widow,'  by  Betterton,  a  sort  of  free  translation  of 
Moliere's  i  George  Dandin,'  and  she  says :  "  I  had  seen 
it  once ;  and  I  believe  there  were  few  in  town  had 
seen  it  so  seldom,  for  it  used  to  be  a  favorite  play  and 
often  Tjespoke  ly  the  ladies  ....  Went  to  the  play 
with  my  mistress ;  and  to  my  great  satisfaction  she 
liked  it  as  well  as  any  play  she  had  seen ;  and  it  cer 
tainly  is  not  more  obscene  than  old  comedies  arc.  It 
were  to  be  wished  our  stage  was  chaster."  In  a  paper 
in  the  *  Connoisseur,'  published  in  the  middle  of  the 
century,  the  writer  says:  "I  was  present  a  few  nights 
ago  at  the  representation  of  the  '  Chances,' "  a  most 
indecent  play,  "  and  when  I  looked  round  the  boxes 
and  observed  the  loose  dress  of  all  the  ladies,  and  the 
great  relish  w^ith  which  they  received  the  high-seasoned 
jests  in  that  comedy,  I  was  almost  apprehensive  that 
the  old  story  of  the  outrage  of  the  Romans  on  the 
Sabine  women  would  be  inverted." 

In  a  letter  from  Richardson,  in  1748,  to  Lady 
Bradshaigh,  wTho  under  the  feigned  name  of  Belfour 
carried  on  a  correspondence  with  him,  he  says,  "A 
good  comedy  is  a  fine  performance ;  but  how  few  are 
there  which  can  be  called  good  ?  Even  those  that  are 
tolerable,  are  so  mixed  with  indecent  levities  (at  which 


WOMEN"  AND  THE  STAGE.  41 

footmen  have  a  right  to  insult  by  tlieir  mars  their 
ladies  in  the  boxes)  that  a  modest  young  creature 
hardly  knows  how  to  bear  the  offence  to  her  ears  in 
the  representation,  joined  with  the  insults  given  by 
the  eyes  of  the  young  fellows  she  is  surrounded  by." 

In  Miss  Burney's  novel  of  'Evelina'  the  heroine 
says :  "  The  play  was  '  Love  for  Love ; '  and,  though  it 
is  fraught  with  wit  and  entertainment,  I  hope  I  shall 
never  see  it  represented  again  ;  for  it  is  so  extremely 
indelicate — to  use  the  softest  word  I  can — that  Mise 
Mirvan  and  I  were  perpetually  out  of  countenance, 
and  could  neither  make  any  observations  ourselves, 
nor  venture  to  listen  to  those  of  others." 

It  must,  however,  be  borne  in  mind  that  an  age 
or  period  can  only  be  described  according  to  its  lead 
ing  features  and  general  tendencies.  The  same  is  true 
of  national  character  or  national  portraiture.  And 
during  the  eighteenth  century  how  many  must  have 
lived  and  died  among  our  forefathers,  to  whom  the 
general  description  of  the  age  could  have  been  by  no 
means  with  truth  applied !  *  When  we  speak  of  its 

*  "  In  an  age  that  prides  itself  on  the  careful  rules  of  induc 
tive  reasoning,  nothing  is  more  surprising  than  the  sweeping 
assertions  with  regard  to  national  character,  and  the  reckless 
way  in  which  casual  observations  that  may  be  true  of  one,  two, 
three,  or  it  may  be  ten  or  even  a  hundred  individuals,  are  ex 
tended  to  millions." — '  Chips  from  a  German  Workshop,'  by 
Max  MiUler,  TO!,  iii.  p.  265. 


42  NOVELS  AND  NOVELISTS. 

laxity  of  morals  and  its  indifference  to  religion,  we 
cannot  doubt  that  there  was  piety  both  in  the  town 
and  in  the  country — that  there  were  gentle  and  loving 
souls  who  shrank  from  profanity  and  impurity,  and 
/were  disgusted  at  the  scenes  of  intemperance  which 
they  were  too  often  obliged  to  witness.  In  the  licen 
tious  periods  of  the  reign  of  Charles  II.  in  England 
and  the  Regency  in  France  there  were,  women  like 
Mrs.  Godolphin  and  Madame  Louise,  who,  amid  the 
corruptions  of  a  court,  devoted  themselves  to  the  ser 
vice  of  God,  and  kept  themselves  unspotted  from  the 
world.  "We  are  not  to  suppose  that  all  ladies  spent 
their  time  in  frivolous  amusements  or  intrigues  of  gal 
lantry — as  the  novelists  too  often  represent  them-— and 
we  may  be  sure  that  there  were  thousands  who  could 
give  as  innocent  an  account  of  their  hours  as  Lady 
Bradshaigh  does  in  one  of  her  letters  to  Richard 
son : 

"I  rise  about  seven,  sometimes  sooner ;  after  my 
private  duties,  I  read  or  write  till  nine ;  then  breakfast ; 
work  and  converse  with  my  company  till  about  twelve ; 
then,  if  the  weather  permit,  walk  a  mile  in  the  garden  ; 
dress  and  read  till  dinner;  after  which  sit  and  chat 
till  four  ;  from  that  till  the  hour  of  tea-drinking  each 
day  variety  of  employments.  You  know  what  the 
men  say  enters  with  the  tea-table  ;  though  I  will  ven- 


PICTURE  OF  DAILY  LIFE.  43 

ture  to  say,  if  mine  is  not  an  exception,  it  is  as  near 
one  as  you  can  imagine."* 

And  when  we  visit  an  old  mansion-house  in  the 
country,  with  its  oriel  windows  and  deep-red  brick, 
mellowed  by  time ;  its  terrace-walks  and  trim  gar 
dens  shaded  by  venerable  yews,  it  is  pleasing  to  think 
of  our  great-grandmothers,  then  young  and  lovely 
women,  quietly  and  happily  passing  their  time  there. 
We  can  fancy  the  scene  of  some  fair  girl  whose  face 
Gainsborough  has  painted,  immersed  in  the  volumes 
of  '  Ainadis  de  Gaul '  or  perhaps  '  Clarissa.' 

"  Gracefully  o'er  some  volume  bending, 
While  by  her  side  the  youthful  sage 
Held  back  her  ringlets,  lest  descending 
They  should  o'ershadow  all  the  page." 

And  we  are  not  to  suppose  that  there  were  not  in 
England  many  others  besides  Cowper  who,  although 
not  gifted  with  a  genius  like  his,  and  the  power  of 
expressing  their  thoughts  in  prose  or  verse  like  him, 
did  not  equally  with  him  mourn  over  the  degeneracy 
of  the  age,  and  pour  out  their  hearts  in  prayer  to 
God  for  a  reformation  in  the  habits  of  the  people, 
and  that  Christianity  might  be  more  than  a  name. 
We  know  few  of  their  names  now ;  they  are  only 

*  '  Correspondence  of  Richardson,'  vol.  vi.  pp.  54,  55. 


44  NOVELS  AND  NOVELISTS. 

chronicled  on  the  tombstone — the  silent  witnesses 
have  passed  away,  and  we  must  judge  the  century  by 
its  works  and  the  records  it  has  left,  -y 

We  find  in  the  Essayists  much  useful  matter  that 
throws  light  upon  manners  and  social  usages,  and 
they  form  a  valuable  supplement  to  the  novels ;  or, 
rather  I  should  say,  as  the  essays  go  more  fully  and 
directly  to  the  point,  the  novels  form  a  supplement  to 
them.  But,  if  we  attempt  to  appreciate  their  worth, 
I  fear  I  shall  be  thought  to  broach  a  heresy  when  I 
say-  that,  in  my  opinion,  the  great  body  of  the  Essay 
ists  are  very  dull.  Of  course  I  except  many  papers 
by  Addison,  such  as  those  that  relate  to  the  delightful 
Sir  Eoger  de  Coverley,  the  '  Visions  of  Mirza,'  and 
the  criticisms  on  Virgil  and  Milton ;  and  some  by 
Steele,  Goldsmith,  Johnson,  and  Hawkes  worth.  But, 
taking  them  as  a  whole,  it  is  difficult  to  feel  interest 
in  them  now,  except  so  far  as  they  tend  to  illustrate 
the  condition  of  society  at  the  time.  "What  strikes 
one  most  is  the  frivolity  of  many  of  the  subjects 
about  which  men  of  mark  and  genius  thought  it 
worth  while  to  write.  The  wit  is  generally  of  the 
mildest  kind,  .and  the  good-natured  public  seems  to 
have  been  very  easily  amused.  We  have  essays  and 
letters  about  the  size  of  petticoats  and  hoops,  and  the 
mode  of  flirting  with  fans — about  patches  and  the 


THE  ESSAYISTS.  45 

love  of  women  for  puppet-shows,  about  riding-habits 
and  commodes  :  accounts  of  the  She-romp  Club,  the 
Ugly  Club,  the  Lazy  Club,  and  the  Amorous  Club  ; 
of  female  "  salamanders,"  and  all  the  fashions,  follies, 
and  nonsense  of  the  age.  Women  of  the  town,  like 
Rebecca  !N"ettletop,  recite  their  adventures,  and  mod 
est  women,  like  Belvidera,  write  to  complain  of  fe 
male  panders.  Betty  Saunter  sends  a  letter  to  ask 
whether  "  dimple  "  is  spelled  with  a  single  or  double 
up,"  and  Benjamin  Easy  writes  to  warn  the  public 
against  the  danger  caused  by  the  fan-exercise.  "  Last 
Sunday,"  he  says,  "  he  met  with  a  soldier  of  your  own 
training ;  she  furls  a  fan,  recovers  a  fan,  and  goes 
through  the  whole  exercise  of  it  to  admiration :  this 
well-managed  officering  of  yours  has,  to  my  knowl 
edge,  been  the  ruin  of  above  five  young  gentlemen, 
besides  myself,  and  still  goes  on  laying  waste  where 
soever  she  comes,  whereby  the  whole  village  is  in 
great  danger."  And  he  goes  on  to  suggest  that  the 
management  of  the  fan  should  be  met  with  the  man 
agement  of  the  snuffbox,  which  hint  is  accordingly 
taken  up  ;  and  in  a  subsequent  number  appears  an 
advertisement  stating  where  "the  exercise  of  the 
snuffbox,  according  to  the  most  fashionable  airs  and 
motions,"  will  be  taught. 

The  grave  Dr.   Johnson  gives  us  letters  in  the 


4:6  NOVELS  AND  NOVELISTS 

' Idler'  from  Betty  Brown  and  Molly  Quick  and 
Deborah  Singer  :  and  an  imaginary  complaint  from  a 
grocer's  wife,  whose  husband,  instead  of  attending  to 
the  shop,  spent  his  time  in  a  nine-pin  alley,  and  on 
Sunday  in  an  ale-house.  Also  another  from  Peggy 
Heartless,  whose  peace  of  mind  is  disturbed  because 
her  husband  cannot  find  lodgings  in  London  to  suit 
his  fancy. 

In  one  of  Jane  Austen's  novels.  'Northanger  Ab- 

>  o 

bey,'  where  she  is  defending  the  reading  of  novels, 
she  contrasts  the  conduct  of  a  young  lady  who  might 
be  caught  with  a  novel  in  her  hand,  and  "  lays  it 
down  with  affected  indifference  or  momentary  shame 
— although  it  were  perhaps  '  Cecilia,'  or  (  Camilla,'  or 
i  Belinda '  " — with  her  conduct  if  discovered  reading 
the  '  Spectator.'  "  ]S~ow,  had  the  same  young  lady 
been  engaged  with  a  volume  of  the  'Spectator'  in 
stead  of  such  a  work,  how  proudly  would  she  have 
produced  the  book  and  told  its  name !  though  the 
chances  must  be  against  her  being  occupied  with  any 
part  of  that  voluminous  publication  of  which  either 
the  matter  or  manner  would  not  disgust  a  young  per 
son  of  taste  ;  the  substance  of  its  papers  so  often  con 
sisting  in  the  statement  of  improbable  circumstances, 
unnatural  characters,  and  topics  of  conversation  which 
no  longer  concern  any  one  living ;  and  their  language 


THE  ESSAYISTS.  47 

frequently  so  coarse  as  to  give  no  very  favorable  idea 
of  the  age  that  conld  endure  it." 

The  object  of  the  writers  was  no  doubt  good — to 
reform  manners  and  morals  by  irony  and  satire  ;  but 
Lord  Macanlay  certainly  attributes  too  much  influ 
ence  to  the  satire  of  Addison  when  he  says  that  he 
so  effectually  retorted  on  vice  the  mockery  which  had 
recently  been  directed  against  virtue,  that  since  his 
time  the  open  violation  of  decency  has  always  been 
considered  as  the  mark  of  a  fool.  This,  I  suppose, 
was  suggested  by  the  well-known  lines — 

"  Immodest  words  admit  of  no  defence, 
For  want  of  decency  is  want  of  sense." 

But  the  aphorism  is  not  true  in  itself,  and  it  was  long 
after  Addison  before  indecency  of  conduct,  and  inde 
cency  of  talk,  even  before  women,  were  banished  from 
society.  The  change  was  due  to  that  silent  revolu 
tion  in  opinions  and  manners  which  is  brought  about 
by  time,  and  the  eifect  of  which  is  so  wrell  described 
by  Mr.  Lecky  in  his  '  History  of  Rationalism.'  The 
strange  thing,  however,  is — and  it  is  a  remarkable 
proof  of  the  manners  of  the  century — -that  in  works 

* 

seriously  and  sincerely  devoted  to  the  canse  of  mo 
rality  and  religion,  and  intended  to  be  read  at  every 
breakfast-table  in  the  kingdom,  letters  should  be 


48  NOVELS  AND  NOVELISTS. 

printed  whicli  exhibited  vice  in  its  most  naked  form. 
The  same,  indeed,  may  be  said  of  the  reports  of  cases 
in  our  newspapers  at  the  present  day,  and  it  is,  I 
think,  deeply  to  be  regretted  that  they  give  at  full 
length  such  polluting  details  as  often  fill  their  col 
umns.  It  will  generally  be  found  that  the  minuteness 
of  the  narrative,  or  the  fidelity  of  the  report  of 
the  evidence,  is  in  proportion  to  the  objection 
able  nature  of  the  subject-matter ;  and  attention 
is  called  by  leaded  type  to  conversations  and  actions 
in  real  life  which,  if  dressed  up  as  fiction,  and  sold  as 
novels,  would  lead  to  a  prosecution  by  the  Society  for 
the  Suppression  of  Yice,  or  a.  seizure  under  Lord 
Campbell's  Act.  I  know  the  sort  of  apology  which 
is  made  for  this ;  namely,  that  publicity  is  the  most 
effectual  punishment  of  vice  and  crime.  But  the 
answer  is  twofold :  first,  publicity  may  be  given  with 
out  revelling  in  the  details  of  indecency — a  picture 
may  be  a  sketch  instead  of  being  a  photograph — and, 
secondly,  the  object  of  the  proprietors  in  so  doing  is 
not  to  advance  the  cause  of  morality,  but  to  put 
money  into  their  pockets.  The  sale  of  a  newspaper 
increases  witli.  the  enormity  of  the  scandal  it  reports, 
and  the  simple  reason  why  the  report  is  so  disgust-' 
ingly  minute  is  that  it  pays.  Of  course  there  is  the 
difference  between  the  two  cases — the  modern  news- 


MODERN  NEWSPAPERS.  49 

papers  detail  facts  that  liave  actually  occurred,  and 
evidence  that  has  been  given  in  a  court  of  justice, 
while  the  objectionable  letters  in  the  4  Tatler '  and 
'  Spectator '  and  f  Guardian,'  are  purely  imaginary. 
But  the  effect  is  the  same,  or  rather,  I  should  say,  the 
effect  of  the  modern  practice  is  infinitely  worse,  for 
the  interest  of  the  readers  is  more  engaged,  and  the 
mind  realizes  more  vividly  the  scenes  that  are  de 
scribed. 

Another  source  of  information  as  to  the  manners 
of  the  age,  is  Painting.  The  pictures  of  Hogarth,  so 
well  known  to  all  of  us  by  the  engravings,  are  of 
excellent  use  in  conveying  a  truthful  idea  of  these, 
and  the  costume  of  the  time.  But  this  has  been  so 
admirably  drawn  by  a  master-hand,  that  I  shall  not 
attempt  to  give  an  analysis  of  my  own,  but  merely 
quote  two  or  three  sentences  from  Thackeray.* 
'•'  We  look  and  see  pass  before  us  the  England  of  a 
hundred  years  ago — the  peer  in  his  drawing-room,  the 
lady  of  fashion  in  her  apartment,  foreign  singers  sur 
rounding  her,  and  the  chamber  filled  writh  gewgaws  in 
the  mode  of  that  day;  the  church,  with  its  quaint 
fiorid  architecture  and  singing  congregation ;  the  par 
son  with  his  great  wig,  and  the  beadle  with  his  cane, 
— all  these  are  represented  before  us,  and  we  are  sure 
*<  English  Humorists,'  pp.  244,  245 


50  NOVELS  AND   NOVELISTS. 

of  the  truth  of  the  portrait The  Yorkshire 

wagon  rolls  into  the  inn-yard;  the  country  parson, 
in  his  jack-boots,  and  his  bands,  and  short  cassock, 
comes  trotting  into  town,  and  we  fancy  it  is  Parson 
Adams  with  his  sermons  in  his  pocket.  The  Salisbury 
fly  sets  forth  from  the  old  Angel.  You  see  the  pas 
sengers  entering  the  great  heavy  vehicle,  and  up  the 
wooden  steps,  their  hats  tied  down  with  handker 
chiefs  over  their  faces,  and  under  their  arms  sword - 
hanger  and  case-bottle  ;  the  landlady,  apoplectic  with 
the  liquors  in  her  own  bar,  is  tugging  at  the  bell ;  the 
hunch-backed  postilion — he  may  have  ridden  the  lead 
ers  to  Humphry  Clinker — is  begging  a  gratuity  ;  the 
miser  is  grumbling  at  the  bill ;  Jack  of  the  Centu 
rion  lies  on  the  top  of  the  clumsy  vehicle  with  a 
soldier  by  his  side — it  may  be  Smollett's  Jack  Hatch 
way,  it  has  a  likeness  to  his  make-up." 

Before,  however,  entering  more  into  detail  as  to 
the  manners  and  habits  of  our  forefathers,  I  wish  to 
make  one  remark  on  which  I  shall  have  occasion  to 
insist  hereafter,  when  I  come  to  speak  more  particu 
larly  of  the  novels  of  the  last  century.  It  must  not  be 
supposed  that,  in  describing  its  vices  and  failings,  I 
mean  to  imply  that  we  at  the  present  day  have  any 
right  te  sit  with  Pecksniff  complacency  in  judgment 
upon  the  past,  and  congratulate  ourselves,  as  if  we 


HOGARTH.  51, 

had  nothing  to  be  ashamed  of  in  our  morals  and  con 
duct.  In  some  respects  we  may  be  thankful  for  a  vast 
improvement,  and  it  would  be  lamentable  indeed  if  it 
were  not  so.  There  can  be  no  doubt  that  in  lan 
guage,  and  manners,  and  taste,  we  are  much  more 
refined  than  our  ancestors  of  a  hundred  or  a  hundred 
and  fifty  years  ago.  Drinking,  swearing,  and  duelling, 
are  no  longer  the  accomplishments  of  gentlemen. 
Coarse  jests  and  improper  allusions  are  no  longer  per 
mitted  in  the  presence  of  women,  and  even  among 
men  an  habitual  offender  in  those  respects  would  soon 
find  that  his  society  was  shunned.  Women  may  be 
treated  with  less  ceremony,  but  they  are  certainly 
treated  with  more  respect.  In  our  houses,  our  furni 
ture,  and  our  sanitary  arrangements,  there  is  far  more 
comfort  and  attention  to  cleanliness  and  health.* 

*  "  It  is  not  necessary  to  go  back  much  beyond  half  a  century 
to  arrive  at  the  time  when  prosperous  shopkeepers,  in  the  lead 
ing  thoroughfares  of  London,  were  without  that  necessary 
article  of  furniture,  a  carpet,  in  their  ordinary  sitting-rooms : 
luxury  in  this  particular  seldom  went  further  with  them  than  a 
well-scoured  floor  strewed  with  sand." — '  Porter's  Progress  of 
the  Nation,'  p.  522.  In  his  '  Life  of  Beau  Nash,'  Goldsmith  thus 
speaks  of  Bath  at  the  beginning  of  the  last  century:  "The 
lodgings  for  visitants  were  paltry  though  expensive ;  the  dining- 
rooms  and  other  chambers  were  floored  with  boards  colored 
brown  with  soot  and  small  beer  to  hide  the  dirt ;  the  walls  were 
covered  with  unpainted  wainscot ;  the  furniture  corresponded 
with  the  meanness  of  the  architecture ;  a  few  oak  chairs,  a  small 


52  NOVELS  AND   NOVELISTS. 

But  the  real  progress  made,  besides  the  improvement 
in  manners  and  refinement  (I  say  nothing  of  politics), 
is  in  the  enlarged  scope  of  modern  legislation  and 
consideration  for  the  wants  of  the  poor. 

We  are  not,  however,  to  suppose  that  the  age  was 
without  manly  virtues  and  womanly  decorum,  still 
less  that  the  minds  of  the  men  of  former  generations 
were  unfeeling  or  corrupt,  because  they  tolerated 
things  which  we  should  now  regard  with  pity  or  dis 
gust.  "\\re  must  cautiously  discriminate  between  the 
outward  act  and  the  inward  sentiment.  Take  the 
case  of  religious  persecution  in  former  times.  As  lias 
been  forcibly  remarked  by  Mr.  Lecky,  "  The  burnings, 
the  tortures,  the  imprisonments,  the  confiscations,  the 
disabilities,  the  long  wars  and  still  longer  animosities, 
that  for  so  many  centuries  marked  the  conflicts  of 
great  theological  bodies,  are  chiefly  due  to  men  whose 
lives  were  spent  in  absolute  devotion  to  what  they 
believed  to  be  true,  and  whose  characters  have  passed 

looking-glass,  with  a  fender  and  tongs,  composed  the  magnifi 
cence  of  their  temporary  habitations.  I  do  not  believe  that 
from  the  beginning  to  the  end  of  the  century  there  could  be 
found  in  any  house,  in  town  or  country,  a  really  easy  arm 
chair.  We  all  know  the  stiff,  hard,  upright  things  on  which 
our  great-grandfathers  and  great-grandmothers  used  to  sit,  and 
which  we  can  hardly  look  upon  without  feeling  a  pain  in  the 
fiack." 


NECESSITY  OF  DISCRIMINATION.  53 

unscathed  through  the  most  hostile  and  searching 
criticism.  In  their  worst  acts  the  persecutors  were 
but  the  exponents  and  representatives  of  the  wishes  of 
a  large  section  of  the  community,  and  that  section  was 
commonly  the  most  earnest  and  the  most  unselfish."  * 
So,  again,  with  regard  to  the  state  of  our  criminal 
law.  The  frequency  of  capital  punishments,  when 
miserable  wretches  were  hanged  by  the  dozen  for 
picking  pockets,  or  stealing  sheep,  or  cutting  down 
apple-trees,  did  not  shock  the  moral  sense  of  the 
public,  and  excited  remonstrance  only  in  the  minds  of 
a  few  thoughtful  men — not  because  the  public  was 
more  cruel,  and  took  pleasure  in  human  suffering,  but 
because  they  were  thought  indispensable  to  the  safety 
of  the  community;  and  the  idea  of  the  necessity  of 
protecting  property  outweighed  considerations  of  the 
value  of  human  life.  In  old  times,  indeed,  the  num 
ber  of  executions  was  thought  a  proof  of  the  superior 
ity  of  our  countrymen,  as  indicating  the  existence  of 
valiant  crime.  Chief-Justice  Fortescue,  in  the  reign 
of  Henry  VI.,  wrote  almost  with  a  kind  of  pride,  that 
"  more  men  are  hanged  in  Englande  in  one  year,  than 
in  France  in  seven,  because  the  English  have  better 
partes.  The  Scotchmenne  likewise  never  dare  rob, 

*  '  The  Rise  and  Influence  of  Rationalism  in  Europe,'  vol.  i. 
p.  387. 


54:  NOVELS  AND  NOVELISTS. 

but  only  commit  larcenies."  *  Bull-baiting  and  bear- 
baiting  were  defended  by  Canning  and  Windham, 
and  yet  no  one  lias  ever  brought  against  those  eminent 
men  the  charge  of  cruelty.  The  Puritans  were  not 
cruel,  and  yet  Macaulay  says  of  them,  "If  the 
Puritans  suppressed  bull-baiting,  it  was  not  be 
cause  it  gave  pain  to  the  bull,  but  because  it  gave 
pleasure  to  the  spectators."  And  then,  again,  with 
respect  to  the  Slave  Trade,  how  long  it  was  before 
public  opinion  was  effectually  brought  round  to 
second  the  efforts  of  Clarkson  and  "Wilberforce  for  its 
abolition  !  But  it  would  be  most  untrue  to  say  that 
the  men  and  women  who  defended  it — some  within 
living  memory — were,  in  their  dispositions  and  char 
acters,  more  inhuman  than  ourselves. 

Nor,  while  we  congratulate  ourselves  upon  the 
progress  made  in  civilization  and  refinement,  must  we 
forget  "  the  beam  that  is  in  our  own  eye."  We  may 
turn  with  disgust  from  the  coarseness  that  sullies  the 
pages  of  the  literature  of  the  eighteenth  century,  but 
what  shall  we  say  of  the  sensational  novels  of  the 
present  day,  with  their  tales  of  murder,  seduction, 
adultery,  and  intrigue,  the  writers  of  which  seem  to 
have  studied  nothing  but  the  morbid  anatomy  of  the 
human  heart  ? 

*  Quoted  by  Mr.  Lecky  in  liis  '  Rise  and  Influence  of  Ration 
alism  in  Europe,'  vol.  i.  p.  381. 


THE  BEAM  IN  OUR   OWN  EYE.  55 

"  Those  were  times,"  says  the  Rev.  Charles  Kings- 
lev,  speaking  of  the  last  century,  in  his  preface  to 
Brooke's  '  Fool  of  Quality,'  "  in  which  men  were 
coarser  and  more  ignorant,  but  yet  heartier  and  health 
ier  than  now.  Those  '  intricacies  of  the  human  heart,' 
which  (as  unravelled  by  profligate  Frenchmen  or 
pious  Englishwomen)  are  now  in  such  high  and  all 
but  sole  demand,  were  then  looked  on  chiefly  as  indi 
gestions  of  the  human  stomach  or  other  physical  or 
gans  ;  and  the  public  wanted,  over  and  above  the 
perennial  subject  of  love,  some  talk  at  least  about 
valor,  patriotism,  loyalty,  chivalry,  generosity,  the 
protection  of  the  oppressed,  the  vindication  of  the 
innocent,  and  other  like  matters,  which  are  now  ban 
ished  alike  from  pulpit  and  from  stage,  and  only 
call  forth  applause  (so  I  am  informed)  from  the  sluts 
and  roughs  in  the  gallery  of  the  Victoria  Theatre." 

In  so  far  as  the  miserable  trash  of  a  certain  school  of 

• 

fiction  prevalent  among  us,  is  here  condemned,  I  en 
tirely  agree  with  Mr.  Kingsley,  although  happily  the 
writers  usurp  only  a  part  of  the  domain  of  fiction,  and 
we  can  point  to  authors  still  living,  or  only  recently 
departed,  who  are  as  hearty  and  healthy  as  Fielding 
or  Smollett,  without  any  of  their  coarseness  or  scenes 
of  prurient  vice. 

There  is  another  danger  to  guard  against  in  form- 


56  NOVELS  AND  NOVELISTS. 

ing  an  opinion  with  regard  to  the  manners  and  morals 
of  a  by-gone  age,  and  that  is,  lest  we  should  mistake 
satire  for  truth  and  caricature  for  likeness.  In  mak 
ing  use  of  the  novels  for  this  purpose  some  caution  is 
no  doubt  necessary. 

But  here  an  important  distinction  must  be  made. 
It  would  be  very  wrong  to  consider  that  particular 
characters  in  the  hands  of  novelists  truthfully  repre 
sent  a  class,  where  it  is  obvious  that  the  object  is  to 
indulge  in  exaggeration  and  provoke  a  laugh.  Ko- 
body  believes  that  the  grotesque  personages  who  figure 
in  the  pages  of  Dickens  are  anywhere  to  be  found  in 
real  life.  His  plan  was  to  seize  upon  some  oddity  of 
human  nature,  and  invest  his  puppets  with  it  so  com 
pletely  that  they  can  never  open  their  lips  without 
betraying  it.  "Who  ever  met  with  such  a  compound 
of  impudence  and  wit  in  a  shoeblack,  or  a  groom,  as 
we  find  in  the  immortal  Sam  "Weller?  It  may  have 
been  our  lot  to  know  "  a  great  man  struggling  with 
the  storms  of  fate,"  but  where  shall  we  look  for  a  man 
who  is  jolly  in  proportion  as  he  is  unfortunate,  like 
^lark  Tapley  ?  Who  can  believe  in  the  actual  exist 
ence  of  such  persons  as  Miss  Flite  and  Miss  Mowchcr 
and  Toots  ?  Gradgrind  is  so  practical  that  he  ceases 
to  be  human ;  Micawber  is  full  of  maudlin  sentiment 
and  emphatic  nonsense ;  Mrs.  Nickleby  is  always  par- 


EVIDENCE   OF  STATE   OF  SOCIETY.  57 

cntlictical  and  incolierent ;  Boythorn  never  opens  his 
lips  without  being  intensely  and  boisterously  ener 
getic  ;  and  Major  Bagstock  always  describes  himself 
as  "  tough  old  Joe  ;  "  "  Joe  is  rough  and  tough,  sir  ! 
blunt,  sir,  blunt  is  Joe."  It  would  be  in  the  last  de 
gree  absurd  for  a  future  writer  to  take  these  characters 
as  types  of  English  society  in  the  middle  of  the  nine 
teenth  century;  and,  to  a  certain  extent,  the  same 
kind  of  allowance  must  be  made  for  the  characters  in 
the  novels  of  the  last  century.  For  it  is  impossible 
to  believe  that  the  portrait  of  Squire  "Western  repre 
sented  in  all  its  brutal  details  the  country  gentleman 
of  England ;  that  Parson  Adams  and  Parson  Trulli- 
bcr  give  us  a  just  idea  of  the  clergy,  or  that  the  Rox- 
ana  of  Defoe,  the  Mrs.  Waters  and  Lady  Bellaston  of 
Fielding,  the  Miss  Grizzle  Pickle  and  Miss  Tabitha 
Bramble  of  Smollett,  the  Mrs.  Harriet  Freke  of  Miss 
Edgeworth,  and  the  Mrs^Bennett  of  Jajo&Austen,  are 
true  types  of  the  modesty,  education,  refinement,  and 
intelligence,  of  Englishwomen  of  the  time.  I  say  that 
this  allowance  should  be  made  only  to  "  a  certain  ex 
tent,"  for  I  believe  that  the  characters  drawn  by  the 
old  novelists  are,  with  a  few  exceptions,  intended  to 
be  less  imaginary  than  the  creations  of  fiction  in  our 
own  day,  and  have  a  substratum  of  reality  which  is 
wanting  in  many  of  the  amusing  characters  of  Dick- 


58  NOVELS  AND  NOVELISTS. 

ens.  But,  at  all  events,  we  may  use  the  novels  as 
evidence  of  a  state  of  society  and  manners  on  two 
grounds,  which  are  independent  of  the  question 
whether  particular  characters  truthfully  represent  a 
class.  First,  we  may  be  sure  that  in  the  general  tone 
of  conversation  and  description,  and  the  unconscious 
introduction  of  little  incidents  o±  every-day  life,  the 
writers  hold  the  mirror  up  to  Nature  and  reflect  the 
image  they  themselves  received  from  the  world  around 
them.  And  next  the  degree  of  popularity  which  their 
works  enjoyed  is  evidence  that  their  coarseness  did  not 
disgust  nor  their  licentiousness  repel  the  public  taste. 
Such  scenes  as  they  described,  and  such  language  as 
they  put  into  the  mouths  of  their  heroes,  would  now 
make  a  book  unsalable — whereas,  then,  '  Clarissa 
Ilarlowe '  was  thought  to  teach  lessons  of  virtue,  and 
young  ladies  were  not  ashamed  to  avow  their  famil 
iarity  with  '  Tom  Jones.'  We  are  not  therefore  to 
conclude  that  they  were  rakes  and  ready  to  throw 
themselves  into  the  arms  of  the  first  adventurer  they 
met ;  but  we  must  infer  that  their  delicacy  was  less 
susceptible  and  their  modesty  less  sensitive  than  now. 
In  Lockhart's  4  Life  of  Scott '  *  there  is  an  instructive 
anecdote  told  by  Sir  "Walter,  which  remarkably  illus 
trates  this  change  in  the  public  taste.  A  grand-aunt 

*Vol.  v.  pp.  136,  137. 


CHANGE  Itf  PUBLIC   TASTE.  59 

of  his,  Mrs.  Keith  of  Bavelstone,  when  a  very  old 
lady,  once  asked  him  whether  he  had  ever  seen  Mrs. 
Belm's  novels.  Sir  falter  confessed  that  he  had. 
She  then  asked  him  whether  he  conld  get  her  a  sight 
of  them,  and,  "with  some  hesitation,"  he  said  he 
believed  he  could,  but  he  did  not  think  that  she  would 
like  either  the  manners  or  language.  "  Nevertheless," 
said  the  good  old  lady,  "  I  remember  their  being  so 
much  admired,  and  being  so  much  interested  in  them 
myself,  that  I  wished  to  look  at  them  again."  "  So," 
says  Sir  Walter,  "  I  sent  Mrs.  Aphra  Behn,  curiously 
sealed  up,  with  'private  and  confidential'  on  the 
packet,  to  my  gay  old  grand-aunt.  The  next  time  I 
saw  her  afterward  she  gave  me  back  Aphra,  properly 
wrapped  up,  writh  nearly  these  words :  c  Take  back 
your  bonny  Mrs  Behn,  and,  if  you  will  take  my 
advice,  put  her  in  the  fire,  for  I  find  it  impossible  to 
get  through  the  very  first  novel.  But  is  it  not,'  she 
said,  '  a  very  odd  thing  that  I,  an  old  wroman  of  eighty 
and  upward,  sitting  alone,  feel  myself  ashamed  to 
read  a  book  which  sixty^years  ago  I  have  heard  read 
aloud  for  the  amusement  of  large  circles,  consisting  of 
the  first  and  most  creditable. sncifilv  in  London  ? '  " 


CHAPTER  II. 

DRESS.— MASQUERADES.— DRUMS.— "PRETTY  FELLOWS"  AND  "MAC- 
CAEONIES."— CLUBS.  — EANELAGH  AND  VAUXHALL.  — LONDON.— 
DANGERS  OF  THE  STREETS.— STATE  OF  THE  ROADS.— HIGHWAY 
MEN. 

LET  us  now  go  a  little  more  into  detail,  and  con 
sider  some  of  the  aspects  of  the  social  life  and  habits 
of  our  great-great-grandfathers  and  great-great-grand 
mothers. 

And  first  as  to  the  dress  of  the  ladies.  At  the 
beginning  of  the  last  century  the  fashionable  head 
dress  was  the  commode^  or  f outage^  by  which  the  hair 
was  piled  up  on  wires  to  a  prodigious  height.  Then 
there  came  a  sudden  fall,  so  that  women  who  were 
more  than  seven  feet  high  were  reduced  to  five.  In  a 
letter  in  the  '  Spectator,'  from  a  barrister  of  the  Mid 
dle  Temple  who  "  rode  "  the  Western  Circuit,  he  says 
that  one  of  the  most  fashionable  women  he  met  with 
in  all  the  circuit  was  the  landlady  at  Staines,  and  her 
commode  was  not  half  a  foot  high,  and  her  petticoat 
"  within  some  yards  of  a  modish  circumference." 
The  writer  of  a  letter  in  the  i  London  Magazine '  of 


DRESS   OF  LADIES.  61 

August,  1768,  says :  "  I  went  the  other  morning  to 
make  a  visit  to  an  elderly  aunt  of  mine,  when  I  found 
her  pulling  off  her  cap  and  tendering  her  head  to  the 
ingenious  Mr.  Gilchrist,  who  has  lately  obliged  the 
public  with  a  most  excellent  essay  on  hair.  He 
asked  her  how  long  it  was  since  her  head  had  been 
opened  or  repaired.  She  answered,  not  above  nine 
weeks.  To  which  lie  replied,  that  it  was  as  long  as 
a  head  could  well  go  in  summer,  and  that  therefore  it 
was  proper  to  deliver  it  now ;  for  he  confessed  that  it 
began  to  be  a  little  hazarde."  *  And  to  show  how 
the  follies  of  fashion  repeat  themselves,  I  may  men 
tion  that  the  satirists  of  the  last  century  used  to 
mourn  over  the  nakedness  of  the  birds  which  had 
been  robbed  of  their  plumage  to  deck  the  heads  of 
the  ladies. 

AYhen  Lydia  Medford,  in  c  Humphry  Clinker,'  dress 
es  for  an  assembly,  she  says  :  "  I  was  not  six  hours  in  the 
hands  of  the  hair-dresser,  who  stuffed  my  head  with 
as  much  black  wool  as  would  have  made  a  quilted 
petticoat,  and  after  all  it  was  the  smallest  head  in  the 
assembly  except  my  aunt's."  In  Miss  Burney's  c  Eve 
lina'  the  heroine  says:  "I  have  just  had  my  hair 
dressed.  You  cannot  think  how  oddly  my  head  feels ; 
full  of  powder  and  black  pins,  and  a  great  cushion  on 

*  Quoted  in  '  Wright's  Caricature  History  of  the  Georges.' 


62  NOVELS  AND  NOVELISTS. 

the  top  of  it  ....  When  I  shall  be  able  to  make 
use  of  a  comb  for  myself  I  cannot  tell ;  for  my  hair  is 
so  much  entangled,  frizzled  they  call  it,  that  I  fear  it 
will  be  very  difficult." 

In  the  reigns  of  George  I.  and  George  II.  the  pet 
ticoats  of  the  ladies  attained  such  a  monstrous  and  ex 
travagant  size  as  to  become  the  favorite  subjects  of 
satire  and  caricature.  Mrs.  Delany  says.in  one  of  her 
letters,  written  in  1738 :  u  The  fashionable  hoops  are 
made  of  the  richest  damask  with  gold  and  silver,  four 
teen  guineas  a  hoop."  *  There  is  in  the  (  Tatler,'  •)•  a 
paper  which  gives  an  account  of  a  mock  trial  of  a 
pretty  young  woman  for  wearing  a  monstrous  petti 
coat,  which  when  taken  off  the  judge  ordered  to  be 
drawn  up  by  a  pulley,  and  it  formed  "  a  very  vast  and 
splendid  canopy,  and  covered  the  whole  court  of  judi 
cature  with  a  kind  of  silken  rotunda,  in  its  form  not 
unlike  the  cupola  of  St.  Paul's."  Counsel  was  heard 
in  defence  of  the  petticoat,  and  among  other  argu 
ments  they  insinuated  that  its  weight  and  unwieldi- 
ness  might  be  of  great  use  to  preserve  the  honor  of 
families.  The  corpus  delicti  was,  however,  condemned, 
and  sentence  of  forfeiture  pronounced.  And  in  the 
letter  of  the  lawyer  of  the  Western  Circuit,  which  I 
have  already  quoted,  he  says :  "  As  I  proceeded  on  my 
*Mrs.  Delany's  'Autobiography,'  vol.  ii.  p.  25.  fNo.  110. 


HOOP  PETTICOATS.  63 

journey,  I  observed  the  petticoat  grew  scantier  and 
scantier,  and  about  threescore  miles  from  London  was 
so  very  unfashionable  that  a  woman  might  walk  in  it 
without  any  manner  of  inconvenience."  They  disap 
peared  in  the  early  part  of  the  reign  of  George  III., 
but  we  all  know  that  they  were  revived  in  a  slightly- 
modified  form  in  the  reign  of  Queen  Yictoria. 

What  Goldsmith  says  of  the  tyranny  of  female 
fashion  in  his  day  is  equally  true  now :  "  Our  ladies 
seem  to  have  no  other  standard  for  grace  but  the  run 
of  the  town.  If  fashion  gives  the  word,  every  dis 
tinction  of  beauty,  complexion,  or  stature,  ceases. 
Sweeping  trains,  Prussian  bonnets,  and  trollopees,  as 
like  each  other  as  if  cut  from  the  same  piece,  level  all 
to  one  standard."  * 

But  those  who  wish  to  have  an  accurate  idea  of  the 
dress  of  their  female  ancestors  in  the  last  century,  had 
better  consult  the  pages  of  the  diary  of  the  first  Earl 
of  Malmesbury,  recently  published,  where  they  will 
find  full  details  of  their  gowns,  ribbons,  laces,  and  or 
naments. 

As  to  the  dress  of  the  men,  the  chief  thing  to  notice 
in  contrast  with  our  present  apparel  was  its  extreme 
gayety.  Velvet  with  lace  for  coats,  embroidered  waist 
coats  with  deep  pockets  and  low  flaps,  satin  breeches 
*' Bee,' October,  1759. 


64:  NOVELS  AND  NOVELISTS. 

and  buckled  shoes,  were  the  attire  of  our  great-great 
grandfathers  ;  and  it  is  difficult  to  understand  how 
they  could  support  the  expense.  Thackeray  says  of 
Steele,  with  a  delightful  touch  of  sarcasm:  "He  paid, 
or  promised  to  pay,  his  barber  fifty  pounds  a  year, 
and  always  went  abroad  in  a  laced  coat  and  large 
black-buckled  periwig  that  must  have  cost  somebody 
fifty  guineas." 

When  Goldsmith  resolved  to  try  to  better  his  for 
tune  by  practising  as  a  physician,  in  1765,  he  came 
out — according  to  the  account-books  of  Filby,  the 
tailor — in  purple-silk  small-clothes  and  a  scarlet  ro- 
quelaire,  with  a  wig,  a  sword,  and  a  gold-headed  cane. 
And  the  same  minute  record  shows  that  he  had  a  blue- 
velvet  suit  which  cost  twenty  guineas,  and  a  rich  straw 
silk  tamboured  waistcoat,  which  cost  four  guineas, 
to  say  nothing  of  the  "  Tyrian-bloom,  satin-grain,  and 
garter  blue-silk  breeches."  He  was,  as  we  know  from 
Boswell,  rather  vain  of  his  bloom-colored  coat,  notwith 
standing  the  surly  remark  of  Johnson  that  his  tailor 
hoped  that  people  wTould  stare  at  it  and  see  how  well 
he  could  make  a  coat  of  so  absurd  a  color. 

In  1746,  Lord  Derwentwater  ascended  the  scaffold 

dressed  in  scarlet,  faced  with  black  velvet  trimmed 

with  gold,  a  gold-laced  waistcoat,  and  a  white  feather 

in  his  hat.*     But  he  certainly  did  not  show  the  white 

*  '  Gentlemen's  Magazine,'  vol.  xvi.  6GG. 


DEESS  OF  GENTLEMEN.  65 

feather  in  his  conduct,  for  lie  met  death  with  the  ut 
most  bravery.  In  1753,  Dr.  Cameron  went  to  execu 
tion  in  a  light-colored  coat,  red  waistcoat  and  breeches, 
and  a  new  bag  wig.* 

It  was  in  the  following  guise  that  Commodore 
Trunnion,  in  'Peregrine  Pickle,'  one  of  Smollett's 
most  amusing  characters,  was  dressed  on  the  morning 
of  his  intended  marriage  writh  Miss  Grizzly  Pickle. 
a  He  had  put  on,  in  honor  of  his  nuptials,  his  best  coat 
of  blue  broadcloth,  cut  by  a  tailor  of  Ramsgate,  and 
trimmed  with  five  dozen  of  brass  buttons,  large  and 
small.  His  breeches  were  of  the  same  piece,  fastened 
at  the  knees  with  large  bunches  of  tape ;  his  waist 
coat  was  of  red  plush,  lapelled  with  green  velvet  and 
garnished  with  vellum  holes;  his  boots  bore  an  infi 
nite  resemblance,  both  in  color  and  shape,  to  a  pair  of 
leather  buckets;  his  shoulder  was  graced  with  a  broad 
buff  belt,  from  whence  depended  a  huge  hanger,  with 
a  hilt  like  that  of  a  back  sword ;  and  on  each  side  of 
his  pommel  appeared  a  rusty  pistol  rammed  in  a  case 
covered  with  a  bear-skin.  The  loss  of  his  tie,  periwig, 
and  laced  hat,  which  were  curiosities  of  the  kind,  did 

*  Ibid.  vol.  xxiii.  292.  The  size  of  watches  may  be  ima 
gined  from  the  fact  mentioned  by  Lady  Cowper  in  her  diary  (A.  D. 
1710)  that  Lord  Wintou,  when  a  prisoner  in  the  Tower,  had 
sawed  an  iron  bar  very  near  in  two  with  the  spring  of  his  watch, 
in  order  to  try  and  make  his  escape. 


66  NOVELS  AND   NOVELISTS. 

not  at  all  contribute  to  tlie  improvement  of  the  pic 
ture  ;  but,  on  the  contrary,  by  exhibiting  his  bald  pate 
and  the  natural  extension  of  his  lantern  jaws,  added  to 
the  peculiarity  and  extravagance  of  the  whole." 

The  most  important  and  conspicuous  part  of  the 
dress  was  the  wig.  In  1765  the  peruke-makers  pre 
sented  a  petition  to  the  King,  praying  that  their  dis 
tressed  condition  might  be  taken  into  consideration 
on  account  of  so  many  persons  wearing  their  own 
hair ;  upon  which  his  Majesty  was  graciously  pleased 
to  declare  that  he  held  nothing  dearer  to  his  heart 
than  the  happiness  of  his  people,  and  he  would 
at  all  times  use  his  endeavors  to  promote  their 
welfare.  It  seems  that  on  this  occasion  some  of 
the  wig-makers  who  attended  the  deputation  were 
so  inconsistent  as  to  wear  their  own  hair,  which 
was  cut  off  by  the  mob  that  attacked  them."* 
In  Graves's  f  Spiritual  Quixote '  there  is  a  chapter 
headed  "  A  Dissertation  on  Periwigs,"  where  a  his 
tory  of  these  cauliflowers  for  the  head  is  given,  and 
we  are  told  that  "  of  late  years  any  man  that  has  a 
mind  to  look  more  considerable  or  more  wise  than  his 
neighbors  goes  to  a  barber's  and  purchases  fifty  shil 
lings'  worth  of  false  hair  (white,  black,  or  gray)  and 
hangs  it  upon  his  head,  without  the  least  regard  to 
*  '  Ann.  Reg.  Chron.'  February,  1765. 


PERIWIGS.  67 

liis  complexion,  liis  age,  or  his  person,  or  his  station 
in  life ;  and  certainly  if  an  inhabitant  of  the  Cape  of 
Good  Hope  were  to  behold  the  stiff  horsehair  buckles 
or  the  tied  wigs  of  our  lawyers,  physicians,  tradesmen, 
or  divines,  they  would  appear  as  barbarous  and  ex 
traordinary  to  them  as  the  sheep's  tripe  and  chitterlings 
about  the  neck  of  a  Hottentot  do  to  us."  And  these 
wigs  were  not  confined  to  the  men.  "  I  heard  lately 
of  an  old  baronet,"  says  the  same  authority,  "  that 
fell  in  love  with  a  young  lady  of  small  fortune  at 
some  public  place  for  her  beautiful  brown  locks.  He 
married  her  011  a  sudden,  but  was  greatly  disappointed 
upon  seeing  her  wig,  or  tete^  the  next  morning,  thrown 
carelessly  upon  her  toilet,  and  her  ladyship  appear 
ing  at  breakfast  in  very  bright  red  hair,  which  was  a 
color  the  old  gentleman  happened  to  have  a  particular 
aversion  to."  *  If  we  substitute  chignon  for  wig,  are 
we  quite  sure  that  the  same  misadventure  might  not 
happen  now  ? 

Wesley,  when  a  young  man,  was  distinguished  for 
his  long  flowing  hair,  which  he  wore  to  save  the  ex 
pense  of  a  periwig,  that  he  might  give  the  money  to 

*  In  one  of  Walpole's  letters  he  says,  "  You  must  know  that 
the  ladies  of  Norfolk  universally  wear  periwigs  and  affirm  that 
is  the  fashion  in  London,"  vol.  i.  p.  272. 


68  NOVELS  AND  NOVELISTS. 

the  poor.*  I  do  not  know  the  exact  period  when  the 
fashion  of  wearing  periwigs  went  out ;  but  in  Miss 
Burner's  '  Cecilia,'  published  at  the  latter  end  of  the 
century,  the  vulgar  old  miser,  Mr.  Briggs,  is  repre 
sented  as  taking  oif  his  wig  at  a  masquerade  and  wip 
ing  his  head  with  it. 

A  favorite  form  of  public  amusements  was  mas 
querades,  which,  however,  led  to  great  abuse.  In 
1749  Elizabeth  Chudleigh,  afterward  Duchess  of 
Kingston,  wrho  was  tried  for  bigamy  and  sentenced  to 
be  burnt  in  the  hand,  but  praying  "  her  clergy  "  as  a 
peeress,  escaped  the  punishment,  appeared  when  she 
was  one  of  the  maids  of  honor  of  the  Princess  of 
Wales  at  a  masquerade,  in  the  character  of  Iphigenia 
ready  for  sacrifice,  in  a  close  dress  of  flesh-colored 
silk.  The  Princess,  by  wTay  of  rebuke,  threw  her  own 
veil  over  her.  And  in  1771,  Colonel  Luttrell,  the 
opponent  of  Wilkes,  in  the  Middlesex  election,  came 
to  a  masquerade  as  a  dead  corpse  in  a  shroud  with 
his  coffin.  These  exhibitions  became  at  last,  however, 
so  offensive,  that  they  were  put  down  after  public 

*  Horace  Walpole  heard  him  preach  at  Bath  in  1766,  and 
describes  him  as  "  a  lean  elderly  man,  fresh  colored,  his  hair 
smoothly  combed,  but  with  a  soupgon  of  curls  at  the  ends,  won 
drous  clean,  but  as  evidently  an  actor  as  Garrick." — '  Walpole's 
Letters,'  edited  by  Cunningham,  vol.  v.  p.  16. 


MASQUERADES.  G9 

opinion  had  become  disgusted.*  It  is  from  a  mas 
querade  that  Harriet  Byron,  in  Eichardson's  novel  of 
4  Sir  Charles  Grandison,'  is  carried  off  by  Sir  Hargrave 
Pollexfen ;  at  a  masquerade  Tom  Jones  and  Lady 
Bellaston  meet ;  and  it  is  at  a  masquerade  that  Cap 
tain  Booth,  in  Fielding's  'Amelia,'  is  tortured  with 
jealousy,  having  mistaken  another  woman  who  was 
there  for  his  wife. 

Private  parties  given  by  ladies  were  called  drums. 
In  the  novel  of  '  Amelia '  the  heroine  is  asked  to  go 
to  Lady  Betty  Castleton's,  but  excuses  herself  on  the 
ground  that  she  does  not  know  her.  "  !Nbt  know 
Lady  Betty  ?  How  is  that  possible  ?  But  no  matter, 
I  will  introduce  you.  She  keeps  a  morning  rout, 
indeed  ;  a  little  bit  of  a  drum ;  only  four  or  live 
tables.  Come,  take  your  capuchin  ;  you  positively 
shall  go."  And  in  one  of  Daniel  "Wray's  letters, 
dated  November  4,  176 6,  he  thus  speaks  of  a  party 
given  by  his  wife  :  "  Mrs.  "W".,  like  a  miser  who  gives  a 
dinner  but  once  a  year,  determined  to  be  magnificent, 

*  A  writer  in  the  '  Westminster  Magazine,'  in  May,  1774, 
describing  a  masquerade  at  the  Pantheon  says :  "I  saw  ladies 
and  gentlemen  together  in  attitudes  and  positions  that  would 
have  disgraced  the  Court  of  Comus.  In  short,  I  am  so  thorough 
ly  sick  ef  masquerading,  from  what  I  beheld  there,  that  I  do 
seriously  decry  them,  as  subversive  of  virtue  and  every  noble 
and  domestic  point  of  honor." 


YO  NOVELS  AND  NOVELISTS. 

and  peopled  her  drum  so  well,  tliat  her  fire  was  put 
out ;  and  had  the  company  been  less  chosen  it  would 
have  been  a  most  insufferable  crowd.  We  amounted 
in  common  arithmetic  to  forty-four  souls ;  but  as 
one  lady  was  near  her  time,  and  as  the  number  is 
fashionable,  we  counted  forty-five."  * 

At  the  beginning  of  the  century,  men  who  affected 
the  extreme  of  fashion  were  called  "  bucks,"  or 
"pretty  fellows."  This  name  was  changed  in  the 
early  part  of  the  reign  of  George  II.  to  "  beaux  ;  " 
then  came  the  "  fribbles,"  and  after  them  the  "  mac- 
caronies." 

"  With  little  hat  and  hair  dressed  high 

And  whip  to  ride  a  pony, 
If  you  but  take  a  right  survey, 
Denotes  a  maccaroni." 

These  were  followed  by  the  "-dandies,"  who  con 
tinued  down  to  our  own  day ;  and,  perhaps,  are  not 
yet  wholly  extinct. 

In  Richardson's  correspondence  there  is  a  letter 
from  Miss  "Westcourt,  in  which  she  speaks  of  the 
celebrated  Miss  Gunnings,  one  of  whom  afterward 
married  the  Duke  of  Hamilton  with  the  rino;  of  a 

O 

*  I  suppose  that  this  refers  to  No.  45  of  the  '  North'Briton,' 
for  which  Wilkes  was  imprisoned,  but  afterward  discharged  on 
habeas  corpus. 


PRACTICAL  JOKES.  71 

bed-curtain  for  a  wedding-ring,  and  the  other  the 
Earl  of  Coventry.*  They  had  just  left  Enfield  (where 
Miss  AVestcourt  resided),  as  not  being  gay  enough. 
And  she  says :  "  May  toupees,  powder,  lace,  and 
essence  (the  composition  of  the  modern  pretty  fellows) 
follow  them  in  troops  to  stare  and  be  stared  at,  till 
the  more  bashful  youths  give  the  first  blush."  The 
bucks  were  fond  of  practical  jokes,  and  anticipated 
the  famous  one  of  Theodore  Hook  in  Berner's  Street. 
"  Once  I  remember,"  says  a  writer  in  the  '  Connois 
seur,^  "  it  was  a  frolic  to  call  together  all  the  wet- 
nurses  that  wanted  a  place ;  at  another  time  to  sum 
mon  several  old  women  to  bring  their  male  tabby 
cats,  for  which  they  were  to  expect  a  considerable 
price  ;  and,  not  long  ago,  by  the  proffer  of  a  curacy, 
they  drew  all  the  poor  parsons  to  St.  Paul's  Coffee 
house,  where  the  bucks  themselves  sat  in  another 
box  to  smoke  (that  is,  laugh  at)  their  rusty  wTigs  and 
brown  cassocks."  Sometimes  they  outwitted  them 
selves  in  their  mad  merriment,  as  when  a  party  of 
tipsy  Templars  set  out  at  midnight  on  a  voyage  to 

*  Richardson  thoroughly  reciprocated  this  lady's  dislike  of 
the  Miss  Gunnings,  and  expressed  a  wish  "  and — that  in  charity 
— that  they  may  catch  the  small-pox  and  have  their  faces 
scarred  with  it !  " — '  Correspondence  of  Richardson,'  vol.  Hi.  p. 
273. 

t  No.  54,  1755. 


72  NOVELS  AND   NOVELISTS. 

Lisbon  to  get  good  port.  "  They  took  boat  at  Temple 
Stairs  and  prudently  laid  in  by  way  of  provisions  a 
cold  venison  pasty  and  two  bottles  of  raspberry 
brandy ;  but  when  they  imagined  themselves  just 
arrived  at  Gravesend,  they  found  themselves  suddenly 
overset  in  Chelsea  Reach,  and  very  narrowly  escaped 
being  drowned."  They  must  have  been  as  drunk  as 
the  Greek  revellers  at  Corinth,  described  by  Athenoeus, 
who  seeing  the  room  appear  to  move  up  and  down, 
fancied  that  they  were  at  sea  in  a  storm  on  board  a 
trireme,  and  began  to  throw  the  tables  and  couches 
out  of  window,  in  order  to  lighten  the  vessel.  These 
were  certainly  at  least  half-seas  over. 

The  Clubs — very  different  from  the  palaces  of 
Pall  Mall — and  Coffee-houses  were  the  great  resort 
of  politicians  and  literary  men — and,  indeed,  of  every 
body  who  liked  to  pick  up  news  and  retail  it  over  a 
cup  of  sack  or  beer  and  pipe  of  tobacco.  There  were 
White's  Chocolate-house  in  St.  James's  Street ;  Wil 
lis's  Coffee-house,  called  also  Button's,  on  the  north 
side,  of  Russell  Street  in  Covent  Garden ;  the  Cocoa 
Tree  in  St.  James's  Street ;  the  Grecian,  in  Devereux 
Court  in  the  Strand;  Child's  Coffee-house  in  St. 
Paul's  Churchyard,  where  the  clergy  resorted ;  the 
Rose,  by  Temple  Bar,  close  beside  which  was  the 
barber's  shop,  where  the  young  Templar  used  to  have 


CLUBS  AM)  COFFEE-HOUSES.  73 

"  his  slices  rubbed  and  his  periwig  powdered  "  before 
lie  went  to  the  play ;  the  Devil  Tavern,  not  far  off 
Jonathan's  in  Change  Alley,  frequented  by  merchants 
and  brokers,  and  several  others.  And  the  sort  of 
club-life  which  men  of  letters  led  then  is  pleasantly 
described  by  Addison  in  the  first  number  of  the 
i  Spectator.'  "  Sometimes  I  smoke  a  pipe  at  Child's, 
and  while  I  seem  attentive  to  nothing  but  the  £  Post 
man,'  overhear  the  conversation  of  every  table  in  the 
room.  I  appear  on  Tuesday  night  at  St.  James's 
Coffee-house,  and  sometimes  join  the  little  committee 
of  politics  in  the  inner  room,  as  one  who  comes  to 
hear  and  improve.  My  face  is  likewise  very  well 
known  at  the  Grecian,  the  Cocoa  Tree,  and  in  the 
theatres  both  of  Drury  Lane  and  the  Haymarket.  I 
have  been  taken  for  a  merchant  upon  the  Exchange 
for  above  three  years,  and  sometimes  pass  for  a  Jew 
in  the  assembly  of  stockjobbers  at  Jonathan's.  In 
short,  wherever  I  see  a  cluster  of  people  I  mix  with 
them,  though  I  never  open  my  lips  but  in  my  own 
club."  Dr.  Johnson  tells  us  that  when  Addison  had 
suffered  any  vexation  in  his  ill-assorted  marriage  with 
the  Countess  of  Warwick — wrhich  was  often  enough — 

O 

he  withdrew  the  company  from  Button's  house,  and 
"  from  the  coffee-house  lie  went  again  to  a  tavern, 

where  he  often  sat  late  and  drank  too  much  wine." 
4 


74  NOVELS  AND  NOVELISTS. 

Button     liad    been     a    servant    in    the    Countess's 
family. 

"Whatever  may  be  said  against  clubs  nowadays, 
as  interfering  with  domestic  life  and  preventing 
matrimony,  the  attractions  of  the  old  coffee-houses 
seem  to  have  been  more  injurious  to  the  supremacy 
of  the  wife.  Here  are  one  or  two  short  notes  written 
by  Steele  to  his  second  wife  Miss  Scurloek,  "  his  dear 
Prue,"  shortly  after  their  marriage  in  1707 : 

"DEVIL  TAVERN,  TEMPLE  BAE, 

January  3,  1707-'S. 
"  DEAR  PKUE  : 

"  I  have  partly  succeeded  in  my  business  to-day, 
and  enclose  two  guineas  as  earnest  of  more.  Dear 
Prue,  I  cannot  come  home  to  dinner.  I  languish  for 
your  welfare,  and  will  never  be  a  moment  careless 

more. 

"  Your  faithful  husband, 

"EicH.  STEELE." 

How  cunningly  he  tried  to  bribe  her  into  good 
humor  with  the  two  guineas  !  But,  alas,  for  his  prom 
ises.  A  few  days  afterward  he  writes  : 

"DEAR  WIFE, 

"  Mr.  Edgcombe,  ISTed  Ask,  and  Mr.  Lumley,  have 
desired  me  to  sit  an  hour  with  them  at  the  George,  in 


EFFECT  ON  MATRIMONY.  75 

Pall  Mall,  for  which  I  desire  your  patience  till  twelve 
o'clock,  or  that  you  will  go  to  bed.  ..." 

On  another  occasion  he  begs  her  not  to  send  for 
him,  lest  he  should  seem  to  be  a  henpecked  husband. 
"Dear  Prue,  don't  send  after  me, for  I  shall  be  ridic 
ulous."  But  he  was,  I  fear,  incorrigible,  and  must 
have  tried  Prue's  patience  not  a  little  by  such  letters 
as  the  following  : 

"  TENNIS-COURT  COFFEE-HOUSE, 

May  5,  1708. 
"  DEAK  WIFE, 

"  I  hope  I  have  done  this  day  what  will  be  pleasing 
to  you ;  in  the  mean  time,  shall  lie  this  night  at  a 
baker's,  one  Leg,  over  against  the  Devil  Tavern,  at 
Charing  Cross.  ...  If  the  printer's  boy  be  at  home, 
send  him  hither ;  and  let  Mrs.  Todd  send  by  the  boy 
my  night-gown,  slippers,  and  clean  linen.  You  shall 
hear  from  me  early  in  the  morning." 

And  yet  he  tells  her  in  another  letter,  that  he 
"  knows  no  happiness  in  this  life  comparable  to  the 
pleasure  he  has  in  her  society,"  although  he  adds  a  bit 
of  advice  which  may,  perhaps,  have  somewhat  dashed 
the  compliment.  "  Kising  a  little  in  the  morning, 
and  being  disposed  to  a  cheerfulness  ....  would 
not  be  amiss." 


70  NOVELS  AND  NOVELISTS. 

It  seems  that  tlie  complaint  so  often  heard  that 
young  men  will  not  marry,  and  therefore  that  young 
women  are  not  married,  is  as  old  as  the  times  of 
Richardson,  and  the  causes  assigned  are  nearly  the 
same.  Miss  Byron,  in  one  of  her  letters  in  i  Sir 
Charles  Grandison,'  says  :  "  I  believe  there  are  more 
bachelors  now  in  England  by  many  thousands  than 
were  a  few  years  ago ;  and  probably  the  number  of 
them  (and  of  single  women  of  course)  will  every 
year  increase.  The  luxury  of  the  age  will  account  a 
good  deal  for  this,  and  the  turn  our  sex  take  in  un- 
domesticating  themselves,  for  a  good  deal  more.  But 
let  not  those  worthy  young  women  who  may  think 
themselves  destined  to  a  single  life,  repine  over-much 
at  their  lot ;  since  possibly  if  they  have  had  no  lovers, 
or  having  had  one,  two,  or  three,  have  not  found  a 
husband,  they  have  had  rather  a  miss  than  a  loss,  as 
men  go.  And  let  me  here  add,  that  I  think  as  matters 
stand  in  this  age,  or,  indeed,  ever  did  stand,  that  those 
women  who  have  joined  with  the  men  in  their  inso 
lent  ridicule  of  old  maids,  ought  never  to  be  forgiven ; 
no,  though  Miss  Grandison  should  be  one  of  the  ridi- 
culers.  An  old  maid  may  l>e  an  odious  character,  if 
they  will  tell  us  that  the  bad  qualities  of  the  persons, 
not  the  maiden  state,  are  what  they  mean  to  expose ; 
but  then  they  must  allow  that  there  are  old  maids  of 


KANELAGH  AND  VAUXIIALL.  77 

twenty,  and  even  that  there  are  widows  and  wives  of 
all  ages  and  complexions,  who,  in  the  abusive  sense  of 
the  words,  are  as  much  old  maids  as  the  most  particu 
lar  of  that  class  of  females." 

The  favorite  places  of  public  resort  were  Eanelagli 
and  Vauxhall,  and  at  a  later  period  Maryleboiie  or 
"  Marybone  "  Gardens,  as  they  were  called,  and  the 
Pantheon.  Eanelagh  was  on  the  south  side  of  Hans 
Place,  and  was  so  named  from  its  site  being  that  of  a 
villa  of  Viscount  Eanelagh.  The  last  entertainment 
given  there  was  the  installation  of  the  Knights  of  the 
Bath,  in  1802.  In  one  of  his  letters,  Walpole  says — 
"  I  have  been  breakfasting  this  morning  (1742),  at 
Eanelagh  Garden:  they  have  built  an  immense  am 
phitheatre  full  of  little  alehouses ;  it  is  in  rivalry  of 
Vauxhall,  and  costs  above  twelve  thousand  pounds."  "x" 
In  another  letter  lie  describes  it  as  "  a  vast  amphi 
theatre,  finely  gilt,  painted  and  illuminated,  into 
which  everybody  that  loves  eating,  drinking,  staring, 
or  crowding,  is  admitted  for  twelve  pence."  f  It  was 
frequently  visited  by  the  king  and  the  royal  family, 
and  wras  apparently  very  much  like  the  Cremorne 

*  '  Walpole's  Letters,  edited  by  Cunningham,'  vol.  i.  p.  158. 

t  When  Dr.  Johnson  visited  Kanelagh  he  said  that  "  the 
coup  d'ceil  was  the  finest  thing  he  had  ever  seen." — 'Boswell's 
Life  of  Johnson.' 


78  NOVELS  AND  NOVELISTS. 

Gardens  of  the  present  day,  which,  however,  royalty 
does  not  visit.  We  have  a  description  of  the  place  in 
several  of  the  old  novels. 

Horace  Walpole  mentions,  in  a  letter  to  George 
Montague,  dated  June  23,  1750,  a  party  of  pleasure 
of  ladies  and  gentlemen,  of  which  he  made  one,  at 
Vauxhall :  "  We  got  into  the  best  order  we  could,  and 
marched  to  our  barge,  with  a  boat  of  French  horns 
attending,  and  little  Ashe  singing.  We  paraded 
some  time  up  the  river,  and  at  last  debarked  at  Yaux 
hall  ;  there,  if  we  had  so  pleased,  we  might  have  had 
the  vivacity  of  our  party  increased  by  a  quarrel.  .  .  . 
Miss  Spurre,  who  desired  nothing  so  much  as  the  fun 
of  seeing  a  duel — a  thing  which,  though  she  is  fifteen, 
she  has  never  been  so  lucky  to  see — took  due  pains  to 
make  Lord  March  resent  this,  but  he,  who  is  very 
lively  and  agreeable,  laughed  her  out  of  this  charm 
ing  frolic  with  a  great  deal  of  humor.  Here  we 
picked  up  Lord  Granby,  arrived  very  drunk  from 
Jenny's  (a  wrell-known  tavern  at  Chelsea),  where,  in 
stead  of  going  to  old  Stratford's  catacombs  to  make 
honorable  love,  he  had  dined  with  Lady  Fanny,  and 
left  her,  and  eight  women,  and  four  other  men,  play 
ing  at  Brag."  The  party  then  enjoyed  themselves 
mincing  chickens  in  a  china  dish,  which  Lady  Caro 
line  Petersham  stewed  over  a  lamp,  with  pats  of  but- 


EANELAGH  AND  VAUXHALL.        79 

tcr,  and  eating  strawberries  and  cherries  brought  by 
Betty,  the  fruit-girl.* 

There  is  an  amusing  account  in  the  '  Connoisseur ' 
(1755),  of  the  surprise  of  an  honest  citizen,  whose 
wife  and  two  daughters  had  persuaded  him  to  take 
them  to  Yauxhall,  when  he  found  how  thin  were  the 
slices  of  ham,  and  how  heavy  was  the  reckoning. 
His  daughters  ask  him  when  they  shall  come  again  to 
the  Gardens,  but  he  retorts  by  asking  them  if  they 
mean  to  ruin  him.  "  Once  in  one's  life  is  enough, 

O      ? 

and  I  think  I  have  done  very  handsome.  Why  it 
would  not  have  cost  me  above  fourpence-halfpenny  to 
have  spent  my  evening  at  Lot's  Hole ;  and  what  with 
the  cursed  coach-hire,  and  altogether,  here's  almost  a 
pound  gone,  and  nothing  to  show  for  it."  And  so  he 
flapped  his  hat,  and  tied  his  pocket-handkerchief  over 
it,  to  save  his  wig,  as  it  began  to  rain,  and  shook  the 
dust  of  Yauxhall  from  off  his  feet. 

In  c  Humphry  Clinker,'  Mr.  Matthew  Bramble 
asks,  what  are  the  amusements  of  Yauxhall  ?  "  One- 
half  of  the  company  are  following  one  another's  tails 
in  an  eternal  circle ;  like  so  many  blessed  asses  in  an 
olive-mill,  where  they  can  neither  discourse,  distin 
guish,  nor  be  distinguished ;  while  the  other  half  are 
drinking  hot  water,  under  the  denomination  of  tea 

*  '  Walpolc's  Letters,  edited  by  Cunningham,'  vol.  ii.  p.  211. 


80  NOVELS  AND  NOVELISTS. 

....  Yauxliall  is  a  composition  of  baubles,  over 
charged  with  paltry  ornaments."  But  Lydia  Melford 
speaks  in  raptures  of  Ranelagh,  which,  she  says,  "  looks 
like  the  enchanted  palace  of  a  genio,"  and  as  to  Yaux 
liall,  she  is  "  dazzled  and  confounded  with  the  variety 
of  beauties  that  rushed  all  at  once  upon  my  eye." 

JSTo  account,  however,  that  I  have  read  of  Rane- 
lagh  or  Yauxliall,  is  so  lifelike  and  spirited  as  that  by 
Thackeray,  of  Yauxliall,  in  '  Yanity  Fair.'  lie  could 
speak  from  experience,  for  Yauxliall  existed  in  his 
youth,  and  he  vouches  for  the  truth  of  the  fact  there 
was  110  headache  in  the  world  like  that  caused  by 
Yauxhall  punch.  He  tells  us  of  all  the  delights  of 
the  Gardens ;  of  the  hundred  thousand  extra  lamps 
which  were  always  lighted,  the  fiddlers  in  cocked  hats, 
who  played  ravishing  melodies  under  the  gilded 
cockle-shell  in  the  midst  of  the  gardens ;  the  singers, 
both  of  comic  and  sentimental  ballads,  who  charmed 
the  ears  there;  the  country  dances  formed  by  boun 
cing  cockneys  and  cockney  esses,  and  executed  amid 
jumping,  thumping,  and  laughter ;  the  signal  that  an 
nounced  that  Madame  Saqui  was  about  to  mount  sky 
ward  on  a  slack  rope,  ascending  to  the  stars ;  the  her 
mit  that  always  sat  in  the  illuminated  hermitage ;  the 
dark  walks  so  favorable  to  the  interviews  of  young 
lovers ;  the  pots  of  stout  handed  about  by  the  people 


THACKERAY'S  DESCRIPTION  OF  VAUXIIALL.      81 

in  the  shabby  old  liveries ;  and  the  twinkling  boxes 
in  which  the  happy  feasters  made  believe  to  eat  slices 
of  almost  invisible  ham. 

Bat  there  is  hardly  a  scene  at  Eanelagh  described 
by  the  old  novelists,  where  some  insult  is  not  offered 
to  ladies  by  men  calling  themselves  gentlemen,  al 
though  they  did  not  always  attack  them  quite  as 
openly  as  the  young  nobleman,  who,  in  Fielding's 
£  Amelia,'  meets  the  heroine  at  "Vauxhall,  and  cries 

out,  "  Let  the  devil  come  as  soon  as  he  will ;  d n 

me  if  I  have  not  a  kiss." 

We  find  in  the  novels  of  the  last  century,  several 
incidental  notices  of  London,  which  give  us  some  idea 
of  the  difference  between  the  metropolis  then  and  as 
it  exists  now.  "We  are  told  in  f  Humphry  Clinker,' 
that  "  Pimlico '  and  Knightsbridge  are  now  almost 
joined  to  Chelsea  and  Kensington,  and  if  this  infat 
uation  continues  fur  half  a  century,  I  suppose  the 
whole  county  of  Middlesex  will  be  covered  with 
brick."  * 

In  Mrs.  Heywood's  novel  of  '  Miss  Betsy  Thought 
less,'  a  gentleman  mentions  in  a  letter  that  he  wants 

*  The  sights  of  London  are  described  by  Mrs.  Winifred  Jen 
kins  in  the  same  veracious  work.  "  And  I  have  seen  the  park 
and  the  paleass  of  St.  Gimses,  and  the  king's  and  the  queen's 
magisterial  pursing,  and  the  sweet  young  princes,  and  the  hilly- 
fents  and  pye-bald  ass,  and  all  the  rest  of  the  royal  family." 


82  NOVELS  AND  NOVELISTS. 

a  house,  and  says,  "  I  should  approve  of  St.  James's 
Square  if  rents  are  not  exorbitant,  for  in  that  case  a 
house  in  any  of  the  adjoining  streets  must  content 
me ;  I  would  not  willingly  exceed  100?.  or  110Z.  per 
annum ;  but  I  should  be  as  near  the  Park  and  Palace 
as  possible."  The  idea  of  a  house  in  St.  James's 
Square  at  a  rent  of  a  hundred  a  year  is  rather  start 
ling,  and  is  probably  a  mistake  on  the  part  of  the 
authoress. 

Let  those  who  wish  to  understand  what  might 
happen  in  the  streets  of  London  in  the  reign  of  Queen 
Anne,  read  the  attempt  of  Captain  Hill  to  seize  and 
run  away  with  the  beautiful  actress,  Mrs.  Bracegir- 
dle,  as  the  story  was  told  upon  sworn  evidence  in  the 
House  of  Lords,  and  is  chronicled  in  the  pages  of  the 
State  Trials.  The  gallant  lover,  assisted  by  Lord  Mo- 
hun,  lay  in  wait  for  his  mistress  in  Drury  Lane,  with 
a  hackney-coach  and  six  horses  and  half  a  dozen  sol 
diers.  He  caught  hold  of  her  hand  and  tried  to  force 
her  into  the  carriage,  while  the  soldiers  attacked  with 
their  swords  Mr.  Page,  a  friend  who  accompanied  her. 
But  a  hubbub  arose,  and  the  by-standers  came  to  the 
rescue,  so  that  his  Lordship  and  Captain  Hill  were 
obliged  to  let  the  fair  Bracegirdle  go,  and  in  revenge 
for  their  disappointment  they  afterward  attacked 
Mountford  the  comedian — of  whom  Hill  was  jealous 


STATE  OF  THE  EOADS.  83 

—as  lie  was  coming  out  of  a  house  in  Norfolk  Street 
in  the  Strand,  and  killed  him.  For  this  murder  Lord 
Mohun  was  tried  by  his  peers,  but  found  not  guilty, 
as  the  actual  blow  was  struck  by  Hill,  while  the 
attention  of  Mountford  was  engaged  in  conversation 

cD     O 

by  his  Lordship. 

In  the  early  part  of  the  century  the  streets  of 
London  wrere  infested  by  a  body  of  wild  young  men, 
who  called  themselves  members  of  the  Mohock  Club. 
Their  exploits  consisted  in  knocking  down  watchmen, 
assaulting  tlie  citizens,  and  rolling  women  in  tubs.* 

"  Who  has  not  heard  the  scourer's  midnight  fame  ? 
Who  has  not  trembled  at  the  Mohock's  name  ? 
Was  there  a  watchman  took  his  nightly  rounds, 
Safe  from  their  blows,  or  new-invented  wounds  ? 
I  pass  these  desperate  deeds,  and  mischiefs  done, 
Where  from  Snow-hill  black  steepy  torrents  run  ; 
How  matrons,  hooped  within  the  hogshead's  womb 
Were  tumbled  furious  thence  ;  the  rolling  tomb 
O'er  the  stone  thunders,  bounds  from  side  to  side  ; 
So  Regulus,  to  save  his  country,  died."  t 

The  dangers  of  the  street,  from  Mohocks  and  other 
ruffians,  was  such  that  to  go  to  the  theatre  was  like 
going  to  Donnybrook  Fair.  "When  Sir  Roger  cle  Cov- 
-erley  wished  to  see  a  play  Captain  Sentry  came  to 

*  '  Spectator,'  No.  324.    t  Gay's  '  Trivia,'  published  in  1711. 


84:  NOVELS  AND  NOVELISTS. 

accompany  him,  after  putting  OH  his  sword,  and,  in 
in  tho  words  of  the-  'Spectator,'  "Sir  .Roger's  ser 
vants,  and  among  the  rest  my  old  friend  the  butler, 
had,  I  found,  provided  themselves  with  good  oaken 
plants,  to  attend  their  master  on  this  occasion.  When 
we  had  placed  him.  in  his  coach,  with  myself  at  tho 
left  hand,  the  captain  before  him,  and  his  butler  at 
the  head  of  the  footmen  in  the  rear,  we  conveyed  him 
in  safety  to  the  play-house." 

The  roads  were  everywhere  in  an  abominable 
state.  In  the  country  they  were  merely  grcon  lain;;-;, 
with  deep  ruts,  almost  impassable  from  mud  in  winter, 
or  after  rain  ;  and  coaches  drawn  by  six  horses  stuck 
in  them  as  in  an  impervious  morass.  The  average 
speed  of  a  stage-coach  was  about  three  miles  an  hour. 
It  took  a  week  to  travel  from  York  to  London,  and 
between  London  and  Edinburgh  the  time  allowed,  in 
1763,  was  a  fortnight.*  But  this  was  by  the  ordinary 
coach,  for  we  learn  from  "Richardson's  Correspondence 
that  the  "fast  coaches"  actually  performed  the  jour 
ney  between  London  and  York  in  three  days!  In 
the  metropolis  the  gutters  flowed  in  the  middle  of  the 

*  On  Monday,  April  20,1000,1,11(1  ".Flying  Coach"  wcni,  from 
Oxford  to  London  for  the  first  time  in  one  day.  It  Iiad  a  b<>ol, 
on  cacli  side.  Among  the  passengers,  we  are  told,  was  Mr.  Hoi-' 
loway,  "a  Counsellor  of  Oxon,  afterward  a  Judge." 


HAPNKSS   OF   T11K   KOAPS.  85 

j-treets,  and  there  was  no  side  pavement,  or  /A  >/•/<>//% 
for  pedestrians.  .Describing  bis  journey  between 
(Chester  and  London  in  a  stage-coach  in  17-10,  Pen 
nant  savs:  "  Tlu>  strain  and  labor  of  six  good  horses, 
sometimes  eij^ht,  drew  us  through  the  slo\lpjllS  of 
Mireilen  niul  niaiiy otlicr places.  AVe  \\IMV  constantly 
out  t\vo  bonrs  before  tl:iv,  :viul  as  Into  nt  nii^bt,  jviul  in 
tlie  cleptb  of  winter  proportionately  greater."  And 
lie  el  raws  an  unfavorable  eontra.st  between  tbe  single 
gentleman  of  former  times  -\vbo  equipped  in  jaek- 
boots  n>de  ]>ost  tbron^b  tbiek  ami  tbin,  and,  ^nanletl 
against  tlie  mire,  detietl  tbe  frequent  stumble  and  fall 
-—and  "t.beir  enervated  posterity,  ubo  sl(Hx}>  jvwny 
tbeir  ra]>id  journeys  in  easy-ebairs!  "* 

Tbe  same  ant.bor  speaks  of  tbe  Cboster  stai;e  as 
"  no  des]>ieable  vebiele  for  country  gontleiucn."  He 
reaebed  London  from  Cbester,  lk  :is  a  wondrous  effort," 
on  tbe  sixtb  day  before  nightfall.  k'  l^a,mili(xs  \vbo 
travelled  in  tbeir  own  carriages  contracted  witb  Uen- 
son  tfc  C\).,  and  were  dragged  np  in  tbe  same  number 
of  days,  by  three  sets  of  able  horses."*  We  need  not, 
therefore,  be  surprised  that,  the  old  novelists  so  fre 
quently  introduce  the  family  eoaeh  and  six,  although 
it  is  difficult  to  understand  how  country  gentlemen  of 
moderate  means  could  bear  the  expense. 

*  'Journey  from  Chester  to  Lomlon,'  p.  187. 


SG  NOVELS  AND  NOVELISTS. 

When  Mrs.  Delany  travelled  from  London  to  "  the 
Farm "  in  Gloucestershire  in  her  father's  coach  and 
six,  the  journey  occupied  five  days,  "  through  miser 
able  roads."  Writing  to  her  sister,  in  1728,  she  says : 
"At  the  end  of  the  town  some  part  of  the  coach 
broke  and  we  were  obliged  to  get  out,  and  took  shel 
ter  in  an  ale-house ;  in  half  an  hour  we  jogged  on,  and 
about  an  hour  after  that,  flop  we  went  into  a  slough, 
not  overturned,  but  stuck.  Well !  out  we  were  hauled 
again,  and  the  coach  with  much  difficulty  was  heaved 
out."  *  Horace  Walpole,  writing  in  1752,  describes 
the  roads  in  the  neighborhood  of  Tunbridge  Wells 
as  "  bad  beyond  all  badness,"  where  young  gentlemen 
were  forced  to  drive  their  curricles  with  a  pair  of 
oxen,  f  Mrs.  Scudamore  says,  in  a  letter  to  Richard 
son,  the  novelist,  written  from  Kent  Church  in  1757 : 
"  Thank  God,  we  have  met  with  no  ill  accident ;  all 
arrived  in  health.  We  now  and  then  stuck  a  little  by 
the  way  from  the  narrowness  of  the  roads,  which  we 
were  obliged  to  make  wider  in  places  by  a  spade."  J 

In  a  letter  written  by  Lord  Hervey  from  Kensing 
ton,  in  1763,  he  says :  "  The  road  between  this  place 
and  London  is  grown  so  infamously  bad,  that  we  live 

*'Mrs.  Delany's  Autobiography,'  vol.  i.  pp.  12,  17. 

t  'Walpole's  Letters,'  edited  by  Cunningham,  vol.  ii.  p.  281. 

t '  Correspondence  of  Richardson,'  vol.  iii.  p.  327. 


HIGHWAYMEN.  87 

here  in  tlie  same  solitude  as  we  would  do  if  cast  upon 
a  rock  in  the  middle  of  the  ocean,  and  all  the  Lon 
doners  tell  us  that  there  is  between  them  and  us  an 
impassable  gulf  of  mud." 

In  Arthur  Young's  '  Tour  in  the  North  of  Eng- 

O  O 

land,'  published  1770,  he  describes  a  turnpike  road 
1  jet  ween  Preston  and  "Wigan,  and  cautions  travellers 
to  avoid  it  "  as  they  would  the  devil ;  "  saying  "  they 
will  here  meet  with  ruts,  which  I  actually  measured, 
four  feet  deep,  and  floating  with  mud,  only  from  a  wet 
summer — what  therefore  must  it  be  after  a  winter? 
The  only  mending  it  receives  in  places  is  the  tum 
bling  in  some  loose  stones,  which  serve  no  other  pur 
pose  but  jolting  a  carriage  in  the  most  intolerable 
manner." 

In  his  sketch  of  the  life  of  Jane  Austen,  the  Rev. 
Mr.  Leigh  describes  the  road  between  the  villages  of 
Deane  and  Steventon,  of  which  successively  her  father 
was  incumbent,  as  being,  in  the  year  1771,  "a  mere 
cart-track,  so  cut  up  by  deep  ruts  as  to  be  im 
passable  for  a  light  carriage.  Mrs.  Austen,  who  was 
not  then  in  strong  health,  performed  the  short  journey 
on  a  feather-bed  placed  upon  some  soft  articles  of  fur 
niture  in  the  wagon  which  held  their  household 
goods.  In  those  days  it  was  not  unusual  to  set  men 
to  work  with  shovel  and  pickaxe  to  fill  up  ruts  and 


88  NOVELS  AND  NOVELISTS. 

holes  in  roads  seldom .  used  by  carriages  on  such  spe 
cial  occasions  as  a  funeral  or  a  wedding." 

But  besides  the  danger  of  an  upset  from  holes  and 
mud,  there  was  the  more  serious  danger  of.  an  attack 
from  highwaymen,  who  infested  all  the  great  roads. 
ISTo  wonder,  then,  that  pious  Ralph  Thoresby,  when 
travelling  by  coach  from  Leeds  to  London,  in  1708, 
records  in  his  diary — "  Evening :  I  got  an  opportunity 
in  secret  to  bless  God  for  mercies  vouchsafed,  and  im 
plore  further  protection,  though  I  had  a  Scotch  phy 
sician  for  my  chamber-fellow !  "  When  a  family  of 
even  moderate  wealth  travelled  to  Tunbridffc.  or 

O     5 

Bath,  or  Harrogate,  or  Scarborough,  they  set  out  in  a 
coach  and  six,  attended  by  servants  on  horseback, 
armed  with,  pistols,  to  guard  them  against  robbers.* 
To  be  attacked  on  the  road  by  highwaymen  was,  in 
deed,  one  of  the  commonest  incidents  of  travel,  and 
there  is  hardly  a  novel  of  the  last  century  which  docs 
not  introduce  some  such  a  scene  as  the  most  natural 
thing  in  the  world. 

Lady  Cowper  has  the  following  entry  in  her  diary, 

*  Beau  Nash,  at  the'beginning  of  the  century,  used  to  travel 
from  Bath  to  Tunbridge  in  a  post-chariot  and  six  grays,  with 
outriders,  footrnen,  French  horns,  and — a  white  hat ;  which 
last  he  said  he  wore  to  prevent  it  from  being  stolen. — Gold 
smith's  '  Life  of  Beau  Nash.' 


HIGHWAYMEN.  89 

under  date  1716 :  "  Friday  night  Mr.  Mickletliwaite 
was  set  upon  by  nine  footpads,  who  fired  at  his  pos 
tilion,  without  bidding  him  stand,  just  at  the  .end  of 
Bedford  Row,  in  the  road  that  goes  there  from  Pan- 
eras  Church  to  Gray's  Inn  Lane.  His  servants  and 
lie  fired  at  them  again,  and  the  pads  did  the  same  till 
all  the  fire  was  spent." 

This  was  at  the  beginning  of  the  century ;  but 
toward  its  close  Horace  "Walpole  tells  us  in  one  of  his 
letters,  written  in  1781,  that  he  and  Lady  Browne 
were  robbed  by  a  highwayman  as  they  were  going  to 
an  evening  party  at  the  Duchess  of  Montrose's,  near 
Twickenham  Park,  and  after  Lady  Browne  had  given 
the  thief  her  purse  and  he  had  ridden  away,  she  said, 
"  I  am  in  terror  lest  he  should  return,  for  I  have  given 
him  a  purse  with  only  bad  money  that  I  carry  on 
purpose"  *  And  when  Mrs.  Calderwood,  of  Coltness, 
went  from  Edinburgh  to  London  in  1756,  she  says  in 
her  diary  that  she  travelled  in  her  own  post-chaise, 
attended  by  John  Hattray,  her  stout  serving-man,  on 
horseback,  with  pistols  at  his  holsters  and  a  good 
broadsword  by  his  side.  She  had  also  with  her  in 
the  carriage  a  case  of  pistols  for  use  upon  an  emer 
gency,  f 

*  '  Walpole's  Letters,'  vol.  viii.  p.  89. 

t  Quoted  in  Smiles's  'Lives  of  the  Engineers,'  vol.  i.  p.  176. 


90  NOVELS  AND  NOVELISTS. 

In  a  letter  written  by  Mrs.  Harris,  the  mother  of 
the  first  Lord  Malmesbury,  to  her  son,  dated  February 
16,  ,1V73,  she  says:*  "A  most  audacious  fellow 
gobbed  Sir  Francis  Holburne  and  his  sisters  in  their 
coach  in  St.  James's  Square,  coming  from  the  opera. 
He  was  on  horseback,  and  held  a  pistol  close  to  the 
breast  of  one  of  the  Miss  Ilolburnes  for  a  considerable 
time.  She  had  left  her  purse  at  home,  which  he 
would  not  believe.  He  has  since  robted  a  coach  in 
Park  Lane."  "  It  is  shocking  to  think,"  writes  Wai- 
pole,  in  1752,  "  what  a  shambles  this  country  has 
grown  !  Seventeen  were  executed  this  morning  after 
having  murdered  the  turnkey  on  Friday  night,  and 
almost  forced  open  Newgate.  One  is  forced  to  travel, 
even  at  noon,  as  if  one  was  going  to  battle."  f 

In  his  introduction  to  a  '  Voyage  to  Lisbon,' 
Fielding  congratulates  himself  on  having  broken  up, 
in  1753,  the  gang  of  cut-throats  and  street-robbers, 
who  had  been  the  terror  of  the  metropolis,  so  that 
"  instead,"  he  says,  "  of  reading  of  murders  and  street- 
robberies  in  the  news  almost  every  morning,  there  was 
in  the  remaining  part  of  the  month  of  November,  and 
in  all  December,  not  only  no  such  thing  as  a  murder, 

*  'The  Letters  of  the  First  Earl  of  Malmesbury,'  vol.  i.  p. 
258. 

1  '  Walpole's  Letters,'  vol.  ii.  p.  281. 


FIELDING  ON  ROBBERIES.  91 

but  not  even  a  street  robbery  committed."  In  his 
i  Amelia,'  lie  describes  the  watchmen  of  London  as 
"  poor,  old,  decrepit  people,  from  their  want  of  bodily 
strength  rendered  incapable  of  getting  their  livelihood 
by  work."  And  we  must  remember  that  Fielding 

t/  O 

was  a  London  magistrate  and  sat  in  Bow  Street,  so 
that  his  testimony  is  unexceptionable.  He  says  in  his 
'  Inquiry  into  the  Causes  of  the  Increase  of  Robberies,' 
that  he  makes  no  doubt  that  the  streets  of  London 
and  the  roads  leading  to  it  will  shortly  be  impassable 
without  the  utmost  hazard,  and  speaks  of  a  great 
gang  of  rogues  who  were  incorporated  into  one  body, 
had  officers  and  a  treasury,  and  reduced  theft  and 
robbery  to  a  regular  system.  The  first  cause  to 
which  he  attributes  the  evils  he  complains  of  is  the 
too  frequent  and  expensive  dressiness  among  the 
lower  kind  of  people.  Among  them  he  instances 
masquerades,  which  were  by  no  means  confined  to 
places  of  fashionable  resort,  like  Ranelagh  and  Yaux- 
liall,  but  were  scattered  over  the  metropolis  and  its 
neighborhood,  "  where  the  places  of  pleasure  have  al 
most  become  numberless."  The  next  cause  is  drunk 
enness,  for  the  cure  of  which  he  proposes  that  all 
spirituous  liquors  should  be  locked  up  in  the  chemists' 
and  apothecaries'  shops,  "  thence  never  to  be  drawn 
till  some  excellent  physician  call  them  forth  for  the 


92  NOVELS  AND  NOVELISTS. 

cure  of  nervous  distempers."  The  third  cause  is  gain 
ing,  and  the  fourth  the  state  of  the  poor-law.  Field 
ing  was,  in  the  matter  of  law-reform,  far  in  advance 
of  his  age ;  and  he  points  out  with  great  force  and 
acuteness  the  defects  of  our  boasted  system  of  juris 
prudence.  "  There  is,"  he  says,  "  no  branch  of  the 
law  more  bulky,  more  full  of  confusion  and  contra 
diction,  I  had  almost  said  of  absurdity,  than  the  law 
of  evidence  as  it  now  stands."  And  yet  that  law  was 
suffered  to  remain  unchanged  until  a  few  years  ago  ! 
He  had  the  good  sense  to  suggest  the  improvement, 
which  has  only  just  been  sanctioned  by  Parliament, 
of  private  instead  of  public  executions,  and  he  ex 
hausts  the  'argument  for  it  in  a  few  words,  when  he 
says :  "  If  executions,  therefore,  could  be  so  contrived 
that  few  could  be  present  at  them,  they  would  be 
much  more  shocking  and  terrible  to  the  crowd  with- 
out-doors  than  at  present,  as  well  as  much  more 
dreadful  to  the  criminals  themselves,  who  would  thus 
die  only  in  the  presence  of  their  enemies ;  and  thus 
the  boldest  of  them  would  find  no  cordial  to  keep  up 
his  spirits,  nor  any  breath  to  flatter  his  ambition." 

The  subject  of  executions  in  the  last  century  and 
during  a  great  part  of  the  present,  is  really  almost  too 
dreadful  to  dwell  upon.  It  is  sickening  to  turn  over 
the  pages  of  the  Annual  Register  and  see  what  a  holo- 


EXECUTIONS.  93 

caust  of  victims  was  given  over  to  the  hangman  for 
offences  which  now  would  be  punished  by  a  few 
months'  imprisonment.  There  was  quite  a  trade  in 
"  last  dying  speeches."  "I  continued,"  says  Thomas 
Gent,  printer  of  York,  in  his  autobiography,  speaking 
of  1733,  "working  for  Mr.  Woodfall  until  the  execu 
tion  of  Counsellor  Layer,  on  whose  few  dying  words 
I  formed  observations  in  the  nature  of  a  large  speech, 
and  had  a  run  of  sale  for  about  three  days  successively, 
which  obliged  me  to  keep  in  my  own  apartments,  the 
unruly  hawkers  being  ready  to  pull  my  press  in  pieces 
for  the  goods." 


CHAPTER  III. 

TEISONS.— DEUNKENNESS.— SWEAEING.— GAMBLING.— DUELLING.— 
JUSTICE   OF   THE   PEACE.— COUNTRY   SQUIEE. 

THE  mention  of  robberies  leads  naturally  to  speak 
of  prisons,  and  it  is  shocking  to  think  of  what  they 
were.  They  were  more  like  dens  of  wild  beasts  than 
habitations  of  men.  Some  idea  of  the  condition  of 
the  Fleet  may  be  obtained  from  the  perusal  of  a  re 
port  of  a  Committee  of  the  House  of  Commons  in 
1729,  when  the  House  resolved  that  several  of  the 
officers  of  the  prison  should  be  committed  to  Newgate, 
and  some  of  them  were  afterward  tried  for  murder, 
but  acquitted.  Nothing  in  fiction  exceeds  the  reality 
of  the  horrible  disclosures  which  these  trials  brought 
to  light.  The  following  is  a  description  of  the  dun 
geon  called  the  strong  room  :  * 

"  This  place  is  like  a  vault,  like  those  in  which  the 

dead  are  interred,  and  wherein  the  bodies  of  persons 

dying  in  the  said  prison  are  usually  deposited  till  the 

coroner's  inquest  hath  passed  upon  them ;  it  has  no 

*  Ho  well's  '  State  Trials,'  vol.  xvii.  p.  298. 


PEISONS.  95 

chimney  nor  fireplace,  nor  any  light  but  what  comes 
over  the  door,  or  through  a  hole  of  about  eight  inches 
square.  It  is  neither  paved  nor  boarded;  and  the 
rough  bricks  appear  both  on  the  sides  and  top,  being 
neither  wainscoted  nor  plastered.  What  adds  to  the 
dampness  and  stench  of  the  place  is  its  being  built 
over  the  common  sewer,  and  adjoining  to  the  sink  and 
dunghill,  where  all  the  nastiness  of  the  prison  is  cast. 
In  tliis  miserable  place,  the  poor  wretch  was  kept  by 
the  said  Cambridge,  manacled  and  shackled  for  near 
two  months." 

At  one  of  the  trials  the  followino-  evidence  was 

*_5 

given :  * 

Mr.  Ward. — Was  Acton  there  ? 

Demotet. — Acton  came  and  saw  JSTewton  locked 
into  the  strong  room.  When  he  was  first  put  in,  Cap 
tain  Delagol  was  confined  there  at  the  same  time. 

Mr.  Ward. — Was  Newton  sick  in  the  strong  room  ? 

Demotet. — He  fell  sick  there ;  both  of  them  were 
lousy  ;  his  wife  and  young  child  came  to  take  care  of 
her  husband,  and  petitioned  to  Mr.  John  Darrell  to 
have  him  released ;  he  was  put  in  the  sick-room,  and 
there  died  in  four  or  five  days  after.  His  wife 
broke  her  heart,  and  she  and  the  little  child  died  in 
the  same  week. 

*  Ho  weirs  '  State  Trials,'  vol.  xvii.  p.  531. 


96  NOVELS  AND  NOVELISTS. 

Mr.  Ward. — What  was  the  occasion  of  his  being 
sick? 

Demotet. — That  he  was  on  the  ground  ;  he  had  no 
bed  to  lie  on,  and  the  water  came  in  on  the  top. 

Mr.  Ward. — What  kind  of  place  is  the  strong 
room  ? 

Demotet. — It  is  not  fit  to  put  a  man  in  ;  the  rain 
comes  in. 

Mr.  Baron  Carter. — Were  you  ever  in  it  ? 

Demotet. — I  was  in  it  myself;  Grace  put  me  in 
there. 

Mr.  Baron  Carter. — How  long  were  you  in  the 
strong  room  ? 

Demotet.—^  was  in  there  for  ten  minutes,  and 
there  were  two  dead  men  in  at  the  same  time,  and  I 
fell  sick  for  five  months. 

Mr.  Marsh. — Was  it  infested  with  rats  ? 

Demotet. — It  was  very  much  infested  with  rats 
and  vermin. 

Large  sums  were  extorted  from  the  wretched  pris 
oners  in  the  shape  of  fees.  In  the  case  of  Huggins 
and  Bambridge,  reported  on  by  the  same  Committee 
of  the  House  of  Commons,  in  1729,  the  judges  repri 
manded  them,  and  declared  that  "  a  jailer  could  not 
answer  the  ironing  of  a  man  before  he  was  found 
guilty  of  crime  ;  but  it  "being  out  of  term,  they  could 


PRISONS.  97 

not  give  tlie  prisoner  any  relief  or  satisfaction."  Not 
withstanding  this  opinion  of  the  judges,  the  said  Barn- 
bridge  continued  to  keep  the  prisoner  in  irons  till  he 
had  paid  him  six  guineas.*  So  that  there  is  no  exag 
geration  in  the  story  told  by.  Fielding  in  his  i  Amelia,' 
of  a  prisoner  in  Bridewell :  "  The  case  of  this  poor 
man  is  unhappy  enough.  He  served  his  country,  lost 
his  limb,  and  was  wounded  at  the  siege  of  Gibraltar ; 
he  was  apprehended  and  committed  here  on  a  charge 
of  stealing  ;  he  was  tried  and  acquitted — indeed,  his 
innocence  manifestly  appeared  at  the  trial — l)ut  lie 
was  brought  back  here  for  his  fees,  and  here  he  has 
lain  ever  since.'"  The  same  author  gives  us  a  picture 
of  the  interior  of  this  prison,  in  which  Captain  Booth 
was  incarcerated,  but  it  is  by  no  means  so  revolting 
as  many  others  that  might  be  quoted  from  the  writers 
of  the  time :  "  The  first  persons  he  met  were  three 
men  in  fetters,  who  were  enjoying  themselves  very 
merrily  over  a  bottle  of  wine  and  a  pipe  of  tobacco. 
They  were  street-robbers,  who  were  to  be  tried  for  a 
capital  felony,  and  certain  to  be  hanged.  The  next 
was  a  man  prostrate  on  the  ground,  whose  groans 
and  frantic  actions  showed  that  his  mind  was  disor 
dered.  He  had  been  committed  for  a  small  felony, 
and  his  wife,  who  was  then  in  her  confinement,  had 

*  Howell's  '  State  Trials,'  vol.  xvii.  p.  304. 
5 


98  NOVELS  AND  NOVELISTS. 

thrown  herself  from  a  window  two  stories  high.  A 
pretty,  innocent-looking  girl  came  up  and  uttered  a 
volley  of  oaths  and  indecent  ribaldry,  while  not  far 
off  was  a  young  woman  in  rags,  supporting  the  Lead 
of  an  old  man,  her  father,  who  appeared  to  be  dyinu*. 
She  had  been  committed  for  stealing  a  loaf  in  order 
to  support  him,  and  he  for  receiving  it  knowing  it  to 
be  stolen." 

In  the  c  Fool  of  Quality,'  a  novel  written  by  Henry 
Brooke,  in  1763,  of  which  more  hereafter,  we  find 
terrible  complaints  of  the  severity  of  the  law  against 
debtors,  and  arguments  against  imprisonment  for  debt, 
to  which  it  took  more  than  a  hundred  years  afterward 
to  give  practical  effect.  I  do  not  know  any  book, 
or  report,  or  speech,  where  the  case  is  stated  more 
strongly  and  concisely  for  a  change  in  the  law,  than 
in  the  following  passage  : 

"  As  all  the  members  of  a  community  are  inter 
ested  in  the  life,  liberty,  and  labors  of  each  other,  he 
who  puts  the  rigor  of  our  laws  in  execution,  by  de 
taining  an  insolvent  brother  in  jail,  is  guilty  of  a  four 
fold  injury:  first,  he  robs  the  community  of  the  la 
bors  of  their  brother  ;  secondly,  lie  robs  his  brother  of 
all  means  of  retrieving  his  shattered  fortune  ;  thirdly, 
he  deprives  himself  of  the  possibility  of  payment ; 
and  lastly,  he  lays  an  unnecessary  burden  on  the  pub- 


DRUNKENNESS.  99 

lie,  wlio,  in  charity,  must  maintain  the  member  whom 
he  in  his  cruelty  confines."  In  the  same  work,  speaking 
of  the  prisons  in  which  debtors  were  confined,  he  de 
scribes  them  as  driven  to  kennel  together  in  a  hovel 
lit  only  to  stable  a  pair  of  horses;  and  huddled  into 
windowless  rooms,  with  naked  walls,  while  they  were 
squeezed  by  exorbitant  charges  and  illicit  demands 
"  as  grapes  are  squeezed  in  a  wine-press,  so  long  as  a 
drop  remains."  There  is,  however,  not  a  single  novel 
of  the  last  century,  which  describes  the  interior  of  a 
prison,  at  whatever  time  it  wras  written,  whether  in 
the  middle  of  the  period  by  Fielding,  or  toward  its 
close,  by  Godwin  and  Mackenzie,  where  the  same  tes 
timony  is  not  borne  to  its  revolting  horrors.* 

As  to  the  almost  universal  prevalence  of  one  vice  in 
the  last  century,  there  can  be  no  difference  of  opinion 
— I  mean  the  vice  of  drunkenness.  The  preamble  to 
the  Act  9  Geo.  II.  c.  23,  recites  that  "  the  drinking  of 
spirituous  liquors,  or  strong  waters,  is  become  very 
common,  especially  among  the  people  of  lower  and 
inferior  rank,  the  constant  and  excessive  use  whereof 

*  In  a  paper  in  the  '  Idler '  (A.  D.  1759),  Dr.  Johnson  com 
putes  that  there  were  twenty  thousand  debtors  in  England  in 
prison,  and  that  one  in  four  of  them  died  every  year  in  con 
sequence  of  their  treatment  there,  "  the  corruption  of  confined 
air,  the  want  of  exercise,  and  sometimes  of  food,  the  conta 
gion  of  diseases,  and  the  severity  of  tyrants." 


100  NOVELS  AND  NOVELISTS. 

tends  greatly  to  tlie  destruction  of  their  healths,  ren 
dering  them  unfit  for  useful  labor  and  business,  de 
bauching  their  morals,  and  exciting  them  to  perpe 
trate  all  manner  of  vices."  I  fear  that,  as  regards  the 
lower  classes,  it  cannot  be  said  that  this  recital  would 
be  wholly  inapplicable  now,  but  the  reformation  that 
has  taken  place  among  the  gentry  and  middle  classes 
generally  is  wonderful.  It  is  difficult  for  us  to  realize 
the  extent  to  which  our  forefathers  carried  their  pota 
tions.*  Mrs.  Delany,  writing  in  1719,  says  that  Sir 
"William  Pendarves  had  a  copper  coffin  placed  in  the 
middle  of  his  hall,  which  was  filled  with  punch,  and 
he  and  his  boon  companions  used  to  sit  beside  it  and 
get  drunk.f  Lady  Cowper,  in  her  diary,  under  date 

*  This  of  course  does  not  apply  to  the  other  sex  ;  and  I  do 
not  find  in  the  literature  of  the  century  any  hint  that  women 
were  given  to  excess.  There  is  a  passage  in  Thoresby's  '  Diary,' 
vol.  ii.  p.  207,  under  date  1714,  which  we  must  interpret  chari 
tably  :  "Had  other  passengers  which,  though  females,  were  more 
chargeable  with  wine  and  brandy  than  the  former  part  of  the 
journey,  wherein  we  had  neither."  I  once  was  asked  by  an  Eng 
lish  woman,  with  two  or  three  daughters,  at  a  hotel  in  Ger 
many,  to  explain  to  her  an  item  in  her  bill,  which,  being  written 
in  German,  she  did  not  understand.  "  Madam,"  I  said,  "  that 
is  a  charge  for  brandy."  "  Oh  !  "  she  answered,  getting  rather 
red  in  the  face,  "  one  of  my  daughters  was  taken  ill  in  the 
night."  Let  us  hope  that  the  brandy  alluded  to  by  Thoresby 
was  required  for  a  similar  reason, 
t '  Autobiography,'  vol.  i.  p.  66. 


DRUNKENNESS.  101 

1716,  says :  "  At  the  drawing-room,  George  Mayo 
turned  out  for  being  drunk  and  saucy.  He  fell  out 
with  Sir  James  Baker,  and,  in  the  fray,  had  pulled  him 
by  the  nose."  *  And  again,  in  1720,  on  the  King's 
birthday,  at  Court,  "  the  Duke  of  Newcastle  (then 
Lord  Chamberlain)  had  got  drunk  for  our  sins  ;  so  the 
Princess's  ladies  had  no  places,  but  stood  in  the  heat 
and  the  crowd  all  the  night."  And  the  servants  were 
not  behind  their  masters,  for  immediately  afterward 
she  makes  the  following  entry :  u  Dined  with  Aunt 
Allavern.  Go  to  the  Master  of  the  Rolls.  The  ser 
vants  got  so  drunk  I  was  forced  to  send  one  of  them 
home."  Again  :  "  I  dine  with  Mrs.  Clayton.  Left  by 
chairman  and  servants  all  drunk.  I  can  hardly  get  to 
the  Princess."  In  one  of  the  essays  in  the  '  Tatler,' 
Steele  says :  "  I  will  undertake,  were  the  butler  and 
swineherd,  at  any  true  inquiries  in  Great  Britain,  to 
keep  and  compare  accounts  of  wrhat  wash  is  drunk  up 
in  so  many  hours  in  the  parlor  and  pigsty,  it  would 

*An  old  German  writer,  Paul  Hentzner,  who  visited  Eng 
land  in  1598,  says :  "  In  London,  persons  who  have  got  drunk, 
are  wont  to  mount  a  church-tower,  for  the  sake  of  exercise,  and 
to  ring  the  bells  for  several  hours." — Quoted  by  Max  Miiller  in 
his  *  Chips  from  a  German  Workshop,1  vol.  iii.  p.  247.  It  would 
be  curious  to  find  out  the  source  of  information  from  which 
Hentzner  got  this  strange  story. 


102  NOVELS  AND  NOVELISTS. 

appear  the  gentleman  of  the  house  gives  much  more 
to  his  friends  than  his  hogs."  * 

This  wretched  habit  continued  with  little  diminu 
tion  to  the  end  of  the  century.  In  Miss  Edgeworth's 
i  Belinda,'  written  about  that  time,  on  the  first  occa 
sion  when  the  heroine  saw  Lord  Delacour,  he  was 
dead  drunk  in  the  arms  of  two  footmen,  who  were 
carrying  him  up-stairs  to  his  bedchamber,  while  his 
lady,  who  had  just  returned  from  Ranelagh,  passed  by 
him  on  the  landing-place  with  a  look  of  sovereign 
contempt.  "  Don't  look  so  shocked  and  amazed," 
said  Lady  Delacour  to  Belinda,  "  don't  look  so  new, 
child :  this  funeral  of  my  lord's  intellects  is  to  me  a 
nightly,  or,"  added  her  ladyship,  looking  at  her  watch 
and  yawning,  "  I  believe  I  should  say  a  daily  cere 
mony.  Six  o'clock,  I  protest !  " 

But  if  it  wTas  bad  in  England,  it  was  worse  in  Scot 
land.  There  the  ordinary  drink  was  whiskey,  or  claret, 
and  the  latter  beverage  must  have  seemed  weak  as 
water  after  the  former.  One  of  the  Scotch  judges, 
Lord  Her m and,  is  said  to  have  got  drunk  at  Ayr 

*  In  a  touching  paper  in  the  '  Taller,'  in  which  he  describes 
his  father's  death  and  his  mother's  grief,  Steele  says  he  is  inter 
rupted  by  the  arrival  of  a  hamper  of  wine,  "  of  the  same  sort 
with  that  which  is  to  be  put  to  sale  on  Thursday  next  at  Garra- 
way's,"  and  he  sends  for  three  friends,  and  they  carouse  together, 
drinking  two  bottles  a  man,  until  two  o'clock  in  the  morning." 


DRUNKENNESS.  103 

while  on  circuit,  and  to  have  continued  drunk  until 
his  work  was  finished  at  Jedburgh.  In  a  house 
where  Mackenzie,  the  author  of  the  'Man  of  Feeling,' 
was  a  visitor,  a  servant-lad  was  kept,  whose  business 
was  to  "  loose  the  neckcloths  "  of  the  guests  who  fell 
under  the  table,  and  at  Castle  Grant  two  Highlanders 
attended  to  carry  the  drunken  company  to  bed.  Dr. 
Carlyle  (in  1751),  describing  in  terms  of  praise  Dr. 
Patrick  Gumming,  a  clergyman,  says  that  he  "  had 
both  learning  and  sagacity  and  a  very  agreeable  con 
versation,  with  a  constitution  able  to  "bear  the  convivi 
ality  of  the  times"  Ladies  were  obliged  to  leave  the 
dining-room  that  the  gentlemen  might  get  drunk,  and 
had  to  receive  afterward  those  who  could  stand,  stag- 
irerin<r  in  the  drawing-room.* 

c5  O  O 

A  natural  accompaniment  of  hard  drinking  was 
hard  swearing,  and  this  was  as  common  in  fashionable 
as  in  vulgar  life — in  the  dining-room  and  the  drawing- 
room,  as  in  the  kitchen  or  the  stable.  In  most  of  the 
novels  of  the  last  century  that  we  take  up  we  find  the 
pages  studded  with  blanks  and  dashes,  to  denote  the 
oaths  of  the  speakers.  I  do  not  mean  merely  such 
characters  as  Squire  Western  or  Commodore  Trunnion, 
or  Squire  Tyrrel ;  but  it  seems  to  have  been  considered 

*  See  for  these  facts  Ramsay's  '  Reminiscences  of  Scottish 
Life  and  Character.' 


104  NOVELS  AND  NOVELISTS. 

the  necessary  stamp  of  a  man  of  fashion  to  be  in  the 
habit  of  swearing.  And  the  lady-novelists  made  no 
scruple  in  furnishing  their  pages  with  oaths,  in  order 
to  give  a  lifelike  reality  to  the  conversations  of  their 
dramatis  persona*.  This  continued  to  the  end  of  the 
century,  and  beyond  it.  In  Miss  Edgeworth's  '  Be 
linda'  Sir  Philip  Baddely  and  his  friend  Koclifort 
never  speak  without  an  oath,  and  in  a  single  page  I 
have  counted  nine.  Even  Miss  Austen  does  not  shrink 
from  putting  in  the  mouths  of  young  men  like  John 
Thorpe  a  quantity  of  these  expletives,  which,  of  course, 
she  would  not  have  done  if  she  had  not  thought  it 
necessary  in  order  to  give  vraisemblance  to  their 
characters. 

,  The  habit  of  swearing  was  so  common  that  it 
hardly  excited  any  attention ;  and  we  find  little  notice 
taken  of  it  by  the  essayists,  who  professed  to  attack 
every  kind  of  folly  and  vice.  In  the  l  Spectator,'  in 
deed,  swearing  is  described  as  a  reproach  to  the 
nation.  And  there  is  a  paper  in  the  c  Tatler  '  upon 
this  "  blustering  impertinence,"  as  it  is  called,  which 
"  is  already  banished  out  of  the  society  of  well-bred 
men,  and  can  be  useful  only  to  bullies  and  ill  tragic 
writers,  who  would  have  sound  and  noise  pass  for 
courage  and  sense."  But  the  number  of  well-bred 
men,  if  judged  by  this  criterion,  must  have  been  ex- 


SWEARING.  105 

tremely  small.  In  the  i  Microcosm  '  there  is  a  paper 
by  Canning,  in  1786,  which  tries  to  make  people 
ashamed  of  it  by  turning  it  into  ridicule,  and  propos 
ing  to  teach  as  a  science  "  the  noble  art  of  swearing." 
We  are  there  told,  and  beyond  all  doubt  it  was  the 
truth,  that  "  this  practice  pervades  all  stations  and 
degrees  of  men,  from  the  peer  to  the  porter,  from  the 
minister  to  the  mechanic  ....  nay,  even  the  female 
sex  have,  to  their  no  small  credit,  caught  the  happy 
contagion ;  and  there  is  scarce  a  mercer's  wife  in  the 
kingdom  but  has  her  innocent  unmeaning  impreca 
tions,  her  little  oaths  (  softened  into  nonsense '  and 
with  squeaking  treble,  mincing  blasphemy  into  ods- 
bodikins*  slitterkins,  and  such  like,  will  '  swear  you 
like  a  sucking  dove,  ay,  an  it  were  any  nightingale.' ' 
The  writer  then  proposes  that  an  advertisement  should 
be  issued  in  the  following  terms :  "  Ladies  and  gen 
tlemen  instructed  in  the  most  fashionable  and  elegant 
oaths ;  the  most  peculiarly  adapted  to  their  several 
ages,  manners,  and  professions,  etc.  He  (the  adver 
tiser)  has  now  ready  for  the  press  a  book  entitled 
'  The  Complete  Oath  Register :  or,  Every  Man  his 
own  SWEARER,'  containing  oaths  and  imprecations  for 
all  times,  seasons,  purposes,  and  occasions.  Also 
Sentimental  Oaths  for  ladies.  Likewise  Execrations 
for  the  year  1786." 


106  NOVELS  AND  NOVELISTS. 

Gambling  for  high  stakes  was  almost  universal. 
In  Lady  Cowper's  diary,  under  date  1715,  she  says: 
"  My  mistress  (the  Princess  of  Wales)  and  the  Duchess 
of  Montague  went  halves  at  hazard,  and  won  £600. 
Mr.  Archer  came  in  great  form  to  offer  me  a  place  at 
the  table ;  but  I  laughed,  and  said  he  did  not  know 
me  if  he  thought  that  I  was  capable  of  venturing  two 
hundred  guineas  at  play — for  none  sit  down  to  the 
table  with  less." 

On  one  occasion  large  sums  of  money  were  lost 

CD  t/ 

and  won  on  a  race  between  two  maggots  crawling 
across  a  table.*  Horace  Walpole,  writing  to  the  Earl 
of  Strafford,  in  1786,  says  :  "  If  we  turn  to  private  life, 
what  is  there  to  furnish  pleasing  topics  ?  Dissipation, 
without  object,  pleasure,  or  genius,  is  the  only  color 
of  the  times.  One  hears  every  day  of  somebody  un 
done  ;  but  can  we  or  they  tell  how,  except  when  it  is 
by  the  most  expeditious  of  all  means,  gaming  ?  And 
now  even  the  loss  of  an  hundred  thousand  pounds  is 
not  rare  enough  to  be  surprising."  f 

At  the  end  of  the  century  three  titled  ladies,  Lady 
Buckinghamshire,  Lady  Archer,  and  Lady  Mount- 
Edgcumbe,  were  so  notorious  for  their  passion  for 

*  '  Oxford  Magazine,'  October,  1770.  '  Caricature  History 
of  the  Georges,'  p.  319. 

t  '  Walpole's  Letters,'  edited  by  Cunningham,  vol.  viii.  p.  73. 


GAMBLING.  107 

play,  that  they  were  popularly  known  as  "  Faro's 
daughters,-'  and  Gilray  published,  in  1796,  a  carica 
ture  representing  two  of  them  as  standing  in  the 
pillory,  with  a  crier  and  his  bell  in  front.  This  was 
in  consequence  of  what  was  said  by  Chief-Justice 
Kenyon,  in  a  case  that  came  before  him  in  1796, 
when  he  said,  with  reference  to  the  practice  of  gam 
bling  :  "  If  any  prosecutions  of  this  nature  are  fairly 
brought  before  me,  and  the  parties  are  justly  con 
victed,  whatever  be  their  rank  or  station  in  the  coun 
try — though  they  should  be  the  first  ladies  in  the 
land — thev  shall  certainty  exhibit  themselves  in  the 
pillory." 

In  her  novel  of  '  Belinda,'  Miss  Edgeworth  intro 
duces  a  fashionable  lady,  Mrs.  Luttridge,  as  keeping 
an  E,  O.  table  at  her  house,  where  heavy  play  goes 
on,  and  which  is  constructed  for  the  purpose  of  cheat 
ing.  The  consequence  is,  that  being  detected,  she  is 
obliged,  in  order  to  prevent  exposure,  to  give  an  ac 
knowledgment  that  nothing  is  due  for  large  sums  won 
by  her  from  one  of  her  victims. 

"We  know  that  Duelling,  the  offspring  of  the  mod 
ern  code  of  honor  and  involving  the  double  crime  of 
murder  and  suicide,  nourished  in  full  vigor  during  the 
whole  of  the  last  century  and  was  continued  down  to 
our  own  day.  In  one  of  her  letters  Mrs.  Delany  calls 


108  NOVELS  AND  NOVELISTS. 

it,  "that  reigning  curse."  It  was  too  common,  and 
its  existence  too  notorious,  to  require  even  a  passing 
illustration.  Every  gentleman  who  was  challenged 
had  to  fight  or  forfeit  his  reputation  ;  and  we  have  a 
type  of  the  character  in  Colonel  Bath,  one  of  the 
heroes  in  Fielding's  'Amelia,'  who  is  described  as 
"  being  indeed  a  perfect  good  Christian,  except  in  the 
articles  of  fightine;  and  swearing."  'x'  He  is  something 

O  O  O  O 

like  Captain  Hector  McTurk  in  '•  St.  Ronan's  Well,' 
whose  tears  came  into  his  eyes  when  he  recounted  the 
various  quarrels  which  had  become  addled,  notwith 
standing  his  best  endeavors  to  hatch  them  into  an 
honorable  meeting.  It  was  even  thought  no  violation 
of  probability  in  a  novel  to  introduce  clergymen  as 
ready  to  give  "satisfaction"  with  the  pistol  or  the 
sword.  In  Mrs.  Inchbald's  '  simple  Story,'  Dorriforth, 
a  Roman  Catholic  priest,  in  a  moment  of  irritation, 
strikes  Lord  Frederick  Lawnley,  who,  he  thinks,  is 
persecuting  Miss  Milner  with  his  addresses,  and  then 


*  With  this  we  may  compare  Dr.  Johnson's  remark :  "  Camp 
bell  is  a  good  man,  a  pious  man.  I  am  afraid  he  has  not  been 
in  the  inside  of  a  church  for  many  years  :  but  he  never  passes  a 
church  without  pulling  off  his  hat :  this  shows  lie  has  good 
principles."  On  which  passage  Macaulay  observes,  in  his  re 
view  of  Croker's  edition  of  '  Boswell's  life  of  Johnson  : '  "  Spain 
and  Sicily  must  surely  contain  many  pious  robbers  and  well- 
principled  assassins." 


DUELLING.  100 

accepts  a  challenge  to  figlit  a  duel,  in  which  he  comes 
off  with  a  wounded  arm.  And  in  '  Humphry  Clinker,' 
Mr.  Prankley  challenges  at  Bath  the  Reverend  Mr. 
Eastgate,  after  telling  him  that  unless  he  held  his 
tongue  he  "  would  dust  his  cassock  for  him  " — and 
they  go  out  together  armed  writh  pistols — but  the 
affair  is  amicably  settled  on  the  ground.*  In  Miss 
Edgeworth's  story  of  '  Belinda,'  published  in  1801, 
Lady  Delacour,  a  fashionable  dame,  narrates  a  "  meet 
ing  "  she  had  with  Mrs.  Luttridge,  owing  to  a  quarrel 
that  arose  out  of  an  election  squib,  when  each  lady 
appeared  on  the  ground  in  male  attire,  with  a  pistol  in 
her  hand  and  attended  by  a  female  second.  The  mat 
ter  was,  however,  arranged  peaceably,  and  it  was 
agreed  that  the  combatants  should  fire  their  pistols 
into  the  air. 

But  what  is  not  so  generally  known  is,  that  the 
law  steadily  and  consistently  treated  duelling  as  mur 
der.  Juries,  indeed,  might  refuse  to  convict ;  but  that 
was  not  the  fault  of  the  law,  but  of  a  state  of  society 
which  threw  its  shield  over  the  transgressor.  It  would 
be  easy  to  quote  instances  of  the  stern  severity  with 
which  duelling  was  punished  when  judges  had  the 

*  The  Rev.  Henry  Bate,  who  in  1781  took  the  name  of  Dud- 
Icy,  fought  two  duels,  and  was  afterward  made  a  Canon  and  a 
Baronet.  See  Croker's  Edition  of  Boswell's  '  Life  of  Johnson.' 


110  XOVELS  AND  NOVELISTS. 

opportunity  of  passing  sentence.  Thus,  in  1708,  one 
Mawgridge  was  executed  at  Tyburn  for  having  killed 
William  Cope,  in  a  duel  two  years  before.*  He  had 
in  the  mean  time  escaped  to  Flanders,  "  washed  and 
rubbed  all  over  with  green-walnut  shucks  and  wal 
nut-liquor  to  disguise  him." 

In  1729,  Major  Oneby  was  tried  at  the  Old  Bailey 
for  killing  Mr.  Gower  in  a  duel.  The  jury  found  a 
special  verdict,  stating  the  facts,  and  praying  the  ad 
vice  of  the  Court  "  whether  this  be  murder  or  man 
slaughter  ?  "  Chief- Justice  Raymond  delivered  the 
opinion  of  all  the  Judges  that  the  prisoner  was  guilty 
of  murder,  and  he  was  sentenced  to  be  hanged,  but  he 
escaped  the  gallows  by  destroying  himself  in  prison. f 
In  1753,  John  Barbot  was  tried  in  the  Island  of  St. 
Kitts  and  found  guilty  of  killing  Mr.  Mills  in  a  duel 
after  the  President  of  the  Court  had  told  the  jury  that 
the  offence  was  murder.  He  was  afterward  executed^ 
But  not  only  the  law  denounced  duelling — the  essay 
ists  and  novelists  emphatically  condemned  it.  §  And 
yet  in  Ireland,  in  1808,  where  two  persons  were  tried 

*  Howell's  '  State  Trials,'  vol.  xvii.  pp.  57-71. 

t  Ibid.,  pp.  30-55.  J  Ibid.,  vol.  xviii.  1316. 

§  Dr.  Johnson,  however,  seriously  defended  duelling,  on  the 
ground  that  a  man  was  justified  in  fighting,  if  he  did  so,  not 
from  passion  against  his  antagonist,  but  in  self-defence;  to 
avert  the  stigma  of  the  world,  and  to  prevent  himself  from 


TRIALS  FOR  DUELLING.  HI 

for  wilful  murder,  in  a  duel  arising  out  of  an  election 
quarrel,  and  there  were  really  no  circumstances  what 
ever  in  mitigation,  the  jury  acquitted  the  prisoners, 
and  Baron  Smith,  the  Judge,  "  expressed  his  satisfac 
tion  at  the  verdict."  *"  But  this  was  in  Ireland — 
where,  according  to  a  well-known  story,  a  Judge  who 
thought  himself  insulted  by  a  barrister  told  him  that 
in  a  few  minutes  he  would  put  off  his  official  costume 
and  be  ready  to  meet  him. 

In  her  novel  of  '  Miss  Betsy  Thoughtless,'  Mrs. 
Hey  wood  says :  "  They  then  fell  into  some  discourse  on 
duelling ;  and  Mr.  Trueworth  could  not  help  joining 
with  the  ladies,  in  condemning  the  folly  of  that  cus 
tom,  which,  contrary  to  the  known  laws  of  the  land, 

being  driven  out  of  society.  This  he  regretted  as  "  a  super 
fluity  of  refinement,"  but  added,  "  while  such  notions  prevail, 
no  doubt  a  man  may  lawfully  fight  a  duel."  It  is  needless  now 
adays  to  attempt  to  refute  such  a  sophism  as  this,  which  makes 
the  opinion  of  the  world,  however  wrong  it  may  be,  the  stand 
ard  of  what  is  right.  On  another  occasion,  Dr.  Johnson  said  : 
"  Sir,  a  man  may  shoot  the  man  who  invades  his  character,  as 
he  may  shoot  him  who  attempts  to  break  into  his  house."  But 
Boswell  appends  this  note :  "  I  think  it  necessary  to  caution  my 
readers  against  concluding  that  in  this  or  any  other  conversa 
tion  of  Dr.  Johnson,  they  "have  his  serious  and  deliberate 
opinion  on  the  subject  of  duelling."  He  once  confessed,  "  No 
body  at  times  talks  more  laxly  than  I  do."  And  in  his  '  Jour 
nal  of  a  Tour  to  the  Hebrides,'  he  owns  that  he  could  not  ex 
plain  the  rationality  of  duelling. 

*  'Edinburgh  Annual  Register,'  1808,  part  ii.  p.  55. 


112  NOVELS  AND  NOVELISTS. 

and  oftentimes  contrary  to  his  own  reason  too,  obliges 
the  gentleman  either  to  obey  the  call  of  the  person 
who  challenges  him  to  the  field,  or,  by  refusing, 
submit  himself  not  only  to  all  the  insults  his  adver 
sary  is  pleased  to  treat  him  with,  but  also  to  be  branded 
with  the  infamous  character  of  a  coward  by  all  that 
know  him."  And  in  a  conversation  between  Dr. 
Harrison  and  Colonel  Bath  in  Fielding's  'Amelia/ 
the  doctor  says  of  duelling :  "  In  short,  it  is  a  modern 
custom  introduced  by  barbarous  nations  since  the 
times  of  Christianity ;  though  it  is  a  direct  and  auda 
cious  defiance  of  the  Christian  law,  and  is  consequently 
much  more  sinful  in  us  than  it  would  have  been  in 
the  heathens." 

Sir  Charles  Grandison  declines  to  fight  any  duel, 
and  this  on  the  high  ground  of  religious  principle. 
"  I  will  not  meet  any  man,  Mr.  Reeves,"  he  said,  "  as 
a  duellist.  I  am  not  so  much  a  coward  as  to  be  afraid 
of  being  branded  for  one.  I  hope  my  spirit  is  in  gen 
eral  too  well  known  for  any  one  to  insult  me  on  such 
an  imputation.  Forgive  the  seeming  vanity,  Mr. 
Reeves ;  but  I  live  not  to  the  world,  I  live  to  myself; 
to  the  monitor  within  me."  And  in  his  letter  to  Sir 
Hargrave  Pollexfen,  who  had  sent  him  a  challenge  to 
meet  him  at  Kensington  Gravel  Pits,  he  replies :  "  My 
answer  is  this — I  have  ever  refused  (and  the  occasion 


DUELLING   CONDEMNED   IN  NOVELS.          113 

has  happened  too  often)  to  draw  my  sword  upon  a  set 
and  formal  challenge  ....  Let  any  man  insult  me 
upon  my  refusal,  and  put  me  upon  my  defence,  and 
lie  shall  find  that  numbers  tc  my  single  arm  shall  not 
intimidate  me.  Yet  even  in  that  case  I  would  much 
rather  choose  to  clear  myself  of  them  as  a  man  of 
honor  should  wish  to  do,  than  either  to  kill  or  maim 
any  one.  My  life  is  not  my  own ;  much  less  is  an 
other  man's  mine.  Him  who  thinks  differently  from 
me  I  can  despise  as  heartily  as  he  can  despise  me 
....  In  a  word,  if  any  man  has  aught  against  me, 
and  will  not  apply  for  redress  to  the  laws  of  his  coun 
try,  my  goings  out  and  comings  in  are  always  known ; 
and  I  am  any  hour  of  the  day 'to  be  found  or  met 
with,  wherever  I  have  a  proper  call.  My  sword  is  a 
sword  of  defence,  not  offence."  It  must  be  admitted 
that  the  tone  of  the  last  paragraph  but  one  is  not 
very  conciliatory,  nor  likely  to  balk  an  adversary  of 
his  wish  to  ficrht,  and  Richardson  takes  care  to  make 

O          7 

his  hero  such  a  perfect  master  of  his  weapon  and  the 
trick  of  fence,  that  when  attacked  he  is  always  able 
to  overcome  and  disarm  his  opponent.  Sir  Charles, 
however,  states  the  argument  in  a  nutshell  when  he 

c3 

asks :  "  Of  whose  making,  Mr.  Bagenhall,  are  the 
laws  of  honor  you  mention  ?  I  own  no  laws  but  the 
laws  of  God  and  my  country." 


114:  NOVELS  AND   NOVELISTS. 

A  lawyer  in  any  shape  is  always  supposed  to  be 
fair  game,  and  hardly  any  character  has  been  a  more 
favorite  bntt  of  ridicule  with  the  playwriters  and  nov 
elists  than  that  of  a  Justice  of  the  Peace.  I  scarcely 
know  an  instance  of  his  appearance  in  fiction,  except 
to  be  quizzed  ;  from  Mr  Justice  Shallow  in  Shake 
speare  to  Mr.  Justice  Inglewood  in  Sir  Walter  Scott's 
'  Rob  Roy,'  who  finds  the  legal  knowledge  of  his 
clerk,  Jobson,  so  inconveniently  embarrassing.  AVe 
have  Mr.  Thrasher  in  i  Amelia ; '  also  Mr.  Justice 
Buzzard  in  the  same  novel,  wdiose  ignorance  of  law  is 
as  great  as  his  readiness  to  take  a  bribe ;  and  Mr.  Jus 
tice  Frogmore  in  '  Humphry  Clinker,'  "  sleek  and  cor 
pulent,  solemn  and  shallow,  who  had  studied  Burn 
with  uncommon  application,  but  he  had  studied  noth 
ing  so  much  as  the  art  of  living  (that  is,  eating)  well." 
All  who  have  read  the  book  remember  the  laughable 
consequence  that  ensues  to  him  from  eating  at  supper 
a  plate  of  broiled  mushrooms.  And  there  is  the  "  Jus- 
tass  of  Zummersettshire,"  who  was  going  to  commit 
Joseph  Andrews  and  Fanny  Goodwin  for  stealing  a 
twig.  When  Lady  Booby  gets  Joseph  and  Fanny 
taken  before  the  justice  they  are  charged  with  cutting 
and  stealing  one  hazel-twig,  on  the  deposition  of 
Scout,  an  attorney. 

"  '  Jesu  ! '  said  the  squire,  '  would  you  commit  two 


COUNTRY  SQUIRE.  115 

persons  to  Bridewell  for  a  twig  ? ' — i  Yes,'  said  tlie  law 
yer,  i  and  with,  great  lenity  too :  for  if  we  had  called 
it  a  young  tree,  they  would  both  have  been  hanged.' ': 
And  Scout  was  not  far  wrong,  for  by  the  Act  9  Geo  I. 
c.  22,  unlawfully  and  maliciously  to  cut  down  a  tree 
growing  in  a  plantation  was  a  capital  felony. 

But  the  "  great  unpaid  "  may  be  laughed  at  and 
ridiculed  with  impunity ;  for  by  the  law  of  England 
it  is  not  actionable  to  say  of  a  justice  of  the  peace 
"  lie  is  an  ass,  and  a  beetle-headed  justice."  "  Ratio 
est,  because  a  man  cannot  help  his  want  of  ability,  as 
he  may  his  want  of  honesty;  otherwise  where  wrords 
impute  dishonesty  or  corruption."  *  And  an  indict 
ment  for  saying  of  Sir  Rowland  Gwyn,  wTho  was  a 
justice  of  the  peace,  in  a  discourse  concerning  a  war 
rant  made  by  him,  "  Sir  Rowland  Gwyn  is  a  fool,  an 
ass,  and  a  coxcomb,  for  making  such  a  warrant,  and 
he  knows  no  more  than  a  stickbill,"  was  held  naught 
on  demurrer.  Holt,  C.  J.,  there  laid  it  down  as  law : 
"  To  say  a  justice  is  a  fool,  or  an  ass,  or  a  coxcomb,  or 
a  blockhead,  or  a  bufflehead,  is  not  actionable."  f  So 
that  Field  ing  was  not  guilty  of  scandalum  magnatum 
in  denning  in  his  £  Modern  Glossary  ' — "  Judge,  Jus 
tice  ;  an  old  woman." 

*  Howe  v.  Prinn,  2  Salk.  Reports,  695. 
t  Reg.  v.  Wrightson,  Ibid.  698. 


116  NOVELS  AND  NOVELISTS. 

We  are  apt  to  think  that  there  is  no  position  more 
fortunate,  and  no  life  likely  to  be  happier,  than  that 
of  a  country  gentleman.  And  certainly,  at  the  pres 
ent  day,  there  is  no  class  of  men  to  whom  the  word 
"  Gentlemen  "  more  emphatically  applies,  or  who  are 
more  generally  distinguished  for  their  culture  and 
refinement.  But  the  country  squires  of  the  last  cen 
tury  were  very  different  persons.  According  to  al 
most  unanimous  testimony,  they  were  generally  boor 
ish  and  ignorant,  mighty  hunters,  and  hard  drinkers, 
who  swore  loud  oaths,  and  used  in  the  drawing-room 
the  language  of  the  stable. 

They  are  thus  described  in  a  paper  in  the  i  Con 
noisseur  '  (1T55) :  "  They  are  mere  vegetables  which 
grow  up  and  rot  on  the  same  spot  of  ground ;  except 
a  few,  perhaps,  which  are  transplanted  into  the  Par 
liament  House.  Their  whole  life  is  hurried  away  in 
scampering  after  foxes,  leaping  five-bar  gates,  tramp 
ling  upon  the  farmer's  corn,  and  swilling  October." 
And,  again  :  u  The  dull  country  squire,  wTho,  with  no 
taste  for  literary  amusements,  has  nothing  except  his 
dogs  and  horses,  but  his  bumper  to  divert  him  ;  and 
the  town  squire  sits  soaking  in  a  tavern  for  the  same 
"reason." 

We  may  fairly  consider  Squire  Western  in  '  Tom 
Jones '  as  an  exaggerated  caricature.  Here  is  a  speci- 


SQUIRE  WESTERN.  117 

men  of  his  language,  and,  so  far  as  1  dare  quote  it, 
Fielding's  description  of  tlie  language  of  country 
gentlemen  generally :  " '  I  will  have  satisfaction  o' 
thee,'  answered  the  Squire  ;  '  so  doff  thy  clothes.  At 
unt  half  a  man,  and  I'll  lick  thee  as  well  as  wast  ever 
licked  in  thy  life.'  He  then  bespattered  the  youth 
with  abundance  of  that  language  which  passes  between 
country  gentlemen  who  embrace  opposite  sides  of  the 
question,  with  frequent  applications  to  him  to  ...  ." 
And  yet  Squire  Western  is  hardly  more  boorish,  and 
certainly  he  is  far  less  detestable,  than  Squire  Tyrrel 
in  Godwin's  novel  of  '  Caleb  Williams,'  published  near 
the  end  of  the  century.  Tyrrel  is  a  brute  in  every 
sense  of  the  word — a  brute  in  language,  in  heart,  and 
in  conduct — without  any  of  the  redeeming  qualities 
which  in  Fielding's  creation,  to  a  certain  extent,  miti 
gate  the  sentiment  of  disgust.  But  it  is  not  safe  to 
trust  the  fidelity  of  any  character  drawrn  by  such  a 
democrat  as  Godwin.  There  are  of  course  exceptions 
to  the  general  description  ;  and  we  have  Squire  All- 
worthy  in  c  Tom  Jones,'  and  Sir  William  Thornton  in 
the  c  Yicar  of  Wakefield,'  who  are  models  of  pro 
priety. 

And  as  a  set-off  to  such  a  boorish  brute  as  Fielding 
has  drawn,  we  have  the  delightful  Sir  Eoger  de  Cover- 
ley,  the  pattern  of  what  a  country  gentleman  should 


118  NOVELS  AND   NOVELISTS. 

be,  and  the  happiest  creation  of  Addison.  It  is  hardly 
worth  while  to  enter  into  a  discussion  whether  the 
original  conception  of  the  character  is  due  to  him  or 
to  Steele.  All  the  finer  touches,  and  all  the  interest 
we  feel  in  this  worthy  gentleman,  are,  beyond  doubt, 
due  to  Addison ;  and  we  cannot  but  be  grateful  to 
him  for  giving  us  so  charming  a  portrait.  Alas  !  for 
the  caprice  of  woman,  that  such  a  man  was  doomed 
to  live  and  die  a  bachelor.  That  perverse  widow  for 
whom  he  sighed  in  vain  must  indeed  have  been  dif 
ficult  to  please,  and  her  rejection  of  his  suit  is  almost 
of  itself  sufficient  proof  that  she  was  unworthy  of  his 
hand.  It  is  strange  that  Dr.  Johnson  should  imagine 
that  there  are  in  the  delineation  of  his  character  "the 
flying  vapors  of  incipient  madness,  which  from  time 
to  time  cloud  reason,  without  eclipsing  it ;  "  and  he 
speaks  of  the  irregularities  of  Sir  Roger's  conduct  as 
the  effects  of  "  habitual  rusticity,  and  that  necjlip-ence 

t/  J  O      O 

which  solitary  grandeur  naturally  generates."  Never 
were  epithets  more  unfortunate.  Irregularities  and 
rusticity  and  solitary  grandeur  of  Sir  Roger !  Ilia 
life  is  represented  as  one  of  blameless  virtue,  full  of 
good-humor,  benevolence,  and  affection  ;  although  it 
is  admitted  that,  when  a  very  young  man,  he  so  far 
yielded  to  the  bad  custom  of  the  age  as  once  to  fight  a 
duel.  If  by  "habitual  rusticity"  is  meant  any  thing 


SIB  ROGER  DE   COVERLEY.  119 

more  than  that  lie  lived  generally  in  the  country,  it  is 
entirely  untrue,  for  a  more  polite  and  affable  gentle 
man  could  not  have  existed.  And  as  to  "solitary 
grandeur,"  the  expression  is  ludicrously  false ;  for 
sociability  is  his  characteristic,  and  he  is  distinguished 
for  the  gentleness  and  considerate  attention  with 
which  he  treats  his  neighbors  and  dependents.  Dr. 
Johnson  has  mistaken  humor  of  character  for  aberra 
tion  of  intellect;  and  as  he  had  nothing  of  the  former 
in  his  own  composition,  but  was  conscious  of  a  dark 
stratum  in  his  mind  which  made  him  often  dread 
madness,  he  has  fancied  that  the  harmless  eccentrici 
ties  of  the  worthy  baronet  were  due  to  the  same 
cause.  Surely  we  all  know  Sir  Roger  well,  and  -fully 
agree  with  the  i  Spectator '  that  "  his  singularities 
proceed  from  his  good  sense,  and  are  contradictions  to 
the  manners  of  the  world,  only  as  he  thinks  the  world 
is  in  the  wrong."  In  early  life  he  had  been  what  was 
called  a  fine  gentleman ;  had  often  supped  with  my 
Lord  Rochester  and  Sir  George  Etherege,  fought  a 
duel  upon  his  first  coming  to  town,  and  kicked'  bully 
Dawson  in  a  public  coffee-house  for  calling  him 
youngster.  But  then  came  the  cruel  widow,  and  she 
sobered  him  for  life.  He  first  sawr  her  in  an  assize- 
court  when  he  was  serving  the  office  of  sheriff  for  the 
county,  where,  as  he  says  himself:  "At  last  with  a 


120  NOVELS  AND   NOVELISTS. 

murrain  to  her,  she  cast  her  bewitching  eyes  upon 
me."  He  no  sooner  met  her  glance  than  he  bowed, 
"  like  a  great  surprised  booby."  He  fell,  in  short, 
desperately  in  love  with  her ;  but  met  with  little  en 
couragement.  This,  however,  was  enough  to  make 
him  resolve  to  offer  her  his  hand ;  and,  in  the  words 
of  his  own  confession,  "  I  made  new  liveries,  new 
paired  my  coach-horses,  sent  them  all  to  town  to  be 
bitted  and  taught  to  throw  their  legs  well  and  move 
all  together,  before  I  pretended  to  cross  the  country 
and  wait  upon  her."  But  she  proved  to  be  too  witty 
and  learned  for  a  plain  country  gentleman  ;  and  Sir 
Roger  was  confounded  with  what  he  calls  her  casuis 
try.  "  Chance,"  he  says,  "  has  since  that  time  thrown 
me  very  often  in  her  way,  and  she  has  as  often  directed 
a  discourse  to  me  which  I  do  not  understand.  This 
barbarity  has  left  me  ever  at  a  distance  from  the  most 
beautiful  object  my  eyes  ever  beheld.  It  is  thus  also 
she  deals  with  all  mankind,  and  you  must  make  love 
to  her,  as  you  would  conquer  the  Sphinx,  by  posing 
her.  .  .  .  You  must  know  I  dined  with  her  at  a  pub 
lic  table  the  day  after  I  saw  her,  and  she  helped  me  to 
some  tansy  in  the  eye  of  all  the  gentlemen  in  the 
county.  She  has  certainly  the  finest  hand  of  any 
woman  in  the  world." 

We  have  a  charming  account  of  a  visit  paid  by  the 


SIR  ROGER  DE   COVERLET.  121 

Spectator  to  Sir  Roger's  country  seat,  where,  to  say 
nothing  of  the  affection  borne  to  him  by  his  servants, 
you  might  see  "  the  goodness  of  the  master  even  in 
the  old  house-dog  and  in  a  gray  pad  that  is  kept  in 
the  stable  with  great  care  and  tenderness,  out  of  re 
gard  to  his  past  services,  though  he  had  been  useless 
for  several  years."  There  was  a  picture  in  his  gallery 
of  two  young  men  standing  in  a  river,  the  one  naked 
and  the  other  in  livery.  This  was  painted  in  memory 
of  an  act  of  gallantry  and  devotion  by  one  of  his  ser 
vants,  who  jumped  into  the  water  and  saved  his  mas 
ter  from  drowning.  His  bounty  was  carried  so  far 
that  the  faithful  domestic  was  enabled  to  become  the 
possessor  of  a  pretty  residence,  which  the  Spectator 
had  observed  as  he  approached  the  house.  "  I  re 
membered,  indeed,  Sir  Roger  said,  that  there  lived 
a  very  worthy  gentleman  to  whom  he  was  highly 
obliged,  without  mentioning  any  thing  farther."  At 
a  little  distance  from  the  house,  among  the  ruins  of 
an  old  abbey,  u  there  is  a  long  walk  of  aged  elms, 
which  are  shot  up  so  very  high  that  when  one  passes 
under  them  the  rooks  and  crows  that  rest  upon  the 
tops  of  them  seem  to  be  cawing  in  another  region." 
"  I  am,"  continues  the  Spectator,  "  very  much  de 
lighted  with  this  sort  of  noise,  which  I  consider  as  a 
kind  of  natural  prayer  to  that  Being  who,  in  the 


122  NOVELS  AND  NOVELISTS. 

beautiful  language  of  the  Psalms,  feedeth  the  young 
ravens  that  call  upon  him."  And  Sir  Roger  at 
church !  where  he  will  not  let  anybody  take  a  quiet 
nap  but  himself,  and  calls  John  Matthews  to  mind 
what  he  is  about,  and  not  disturb  the  congregation. 
For  John  Matthews  was  an  idle  fellow,  who  some 
times  amused  himself  by  kicking  his  heels  during  the 
sermon.  The  following  passage  has  more  than  once 
formed  the  subject  of  a  picture,  and  it  would  be  diffi 
cult  to  find  a  more  pleasing  one  of  a  country  gentleman 
of  the  olden  time  :  "  As  soon  as  the  sermon  is  finished 
nobody  presumes  to  stir  till  Sir  Roger  is  gone  out  of 
church.  The  Knight  walks  down  from  his  seat  in  the 
chancel  between  a  double  row  of  his  tenants,  that 
stand  bowing  to  him  on  each  side :  and  every  now 
and  then  inquires  how  such  a  one's  wife,  or  mother, 
or  son,  or  father  do,  whom  he  does  not  see  at  church, 
which  is  understood  as  a  secret  reprimand  to  the  per 
son  that  is  absent." 

How  touchingly  is  the  death  of  the  good  old 
Knight  related  in  a  letter  from  his  butler  to  the 
Spectator,  written,  of  course,  by  Addison :  "  I  am 
afraid,"  he  says,  "  he  caught  his  death  the  last  county- 
sessions,  where  he  would  go  to  see  justice  done  to  a 
poor  widow  woman  and  her  fatherless  children,  that 
had  been  wronged  by  a  neighboring  gentleman ;  for 


SIR  ROGER  DE   COVERLET.  123 

yon  know,  sir,  my  good  master  was  always  the  poor 
man's  friend."  And  then  he  complained  that  he  had  lost 
4i  his  roast-beef  stomach,"  and  grew  worse  and  worse, 
although  at  one  time  he  seemed  to  revive  "  upon  a 
kind  message  that  was  sent  him  from  the  widow  lady 
whom  he  had  made  love  to  the  forty  last  years  of  his 
life."  He  bequeathed  to  her,  "  as  a  token  of  his  love, 
a  great  pearl  necklace  and  a  couple  of  silver  bracelets, 
set  with  pearls,  which  belonged  to  my  good  lady  his 
mother.  ...  It  being  a  very  cold  day  when  he  made 
his  will,  he  left  for  mourning  to  every  man  in  the 
parish  a  great  frieze  coat,  and  to  every  woman  a  black 
riding-hood."  What  a  charming  trait  of  considerate 
kindness  is  this !  And  then  he  took  leave  of  his  ser 
vants,  most  of  whom  had  grown  gray-headed  in  his 
service,  bequeathing  to  them  pensions  and  legacies. 
"  The  chaplain  tells  everybody  that  he  made  a  very 
good  end.  .  .  .  The  coffin  was  borne  by  six  of  his 
tenants,  and  the  pall  held  up  by  six  of  the  quorum. 
The  whole  parish  followed  the  corpse  with  heavy 
hearts  and  in  their  mourning  suits ;  the  men  in  frieze 
and  the  women  in  riding-hoods."  As  for  the  old 
house-dog,  "  it  would  have  gone  to  your  heart  to  have 
heard  the  moans  the  dumb  creature  made  on  the  day 
of  my  master's  death."  * 

';:  It  lias  been  said  that  Aclclison  put  Sir  Roger  to  death  to 


124:  NOVELS  AND  NOVELISTS. 

In  the  c  Spectator  '  also  we  have  the  memoirs  of  a 
country  gentleman,  "  an  obscure  man  who  lived  up 
to  the  dignity  of  his  nature  and  according  to  the  rules 
of  nature."  Among  other  memoranda  are  the  fol 
lowing  : 

"  Mem. :  Prevailed  upon  M.  T.,  Esq.,  not  to  take 
the  law  of  the  farmer's  son  for  shooting  a  partridge, 
and  to  give  him  his  gun  again. 

"Paid  the  apothecary  for  curing  an  old  woman 
that  confessed  herself  a  witch. 

"  Gave  away  my  favorite  dog  for  biting  a  beggar. 

"  Laid  up  my  chariot  and  sold  my  horses  to  relieve 
the  poor  in  a  scarcity  of  grain. 

"  In  the  same  year  remitted  to  my  tenants  a  fifth 
part  of  their  rents. 

"  Mem. :  To  charge  my  son  in  private  to  erect  no 
monument  for  me  ;  but  put  this  in  my  last  will." 

Such  a  character  we  may  hope  was  not  merely 
ideal — and  it  may  be  fairly  put  into  the  scale  against 
the  Squire  Westerns  and  Squire  Tyrrell s  of  the  cen 
tury. 

prevent  liberties  being  taken  with  the  character  by  Steele  and 
others,  in  case  he  was  supposed  to  remain  alive. 


CHAPTER  IY. 

THE  PARSON    OF  THE    LAST  CENTUKY.— FLEET    MARRIAGES 

IN  a  famous  chapter  of  his  *  History  of  England,' 
Lord  Macaulay  has  described  the  state  of  the  Clergy 
in  the  seventeenth  century  in  terms  the  truth  of 
which  has  been  much  disputed.  He  refers  to  Eachard 
and  Oldham  as  authorities  for  some  of  his  most  tell 
ing  passages.  Eachard  was  master  of  Catherine  Hall 
at  Cambridge,  and  published  in  1670  a  book  called 
'  Causes  of  the  Contempt  of  the  Clergy  and  Religion.' 
Swift  says  of  him :  "  I  have  known  men  happy  enough 
at  ridicule,  who  upon  grave  subjects  were  perfectly 
stupid ;  of  which  Dr.  Eachard  of  Cambridge,  who 
writ  <  The  Contempt  of  the  Clergy '  was  a  great  exam 
ple."  The  book,  which  is  very  short,  assigns  as  the 
chief  reasons  for  the  contempt  of  the  clergy  their  ig 
norance  and  poverty.  The  remarks  are,  upon  the 
whole,  exceedingly  sensible,  and  some  of  them  well 
worthy  of  attention  even  now.  A  considerable  part 
of  the  work  is  devoted  to  criticising  the  bad  taste  of 


126  NOVELS  AND  NOVELISTS. 

the  sermons  of  that  period ;  and  the  author  strongly 
complains  also  of  the  miserable  stipends  which  a  large 
portion  of  the  clergy  received,  and  which  compelled 
them  to  eke  out  a  support  for  their  families  by  degrad 
ing  employments.  "  What  a  becoming  thing,"  he 
asks,  "  is  it  for  him  that  serves  at  the  altar  to  fill  the 
dung-cart  in  dry  weather,  and  to  heat  the  oven  and 
pull  hemp  in  wet?  ....  Or. to  be  planted  on  a  pan 
nier,  with  a  pair  of  geese  or  turkeys  bobbing  out  their 
heads  from  under  his  canonical  coat,  as  you  cannot 
but  remember  the  man,  sir,  that  was  thus  accom 
plished?  "  In  another  passage  he  speaks  of  the  chap 
lains  in  great  houses  as  having  "  a  little  better  wages 
than  the  cook  or  butler,"  and  describes  their  degraded 
position  in  one  respect,  which  continued  to  be  literally 
true  in  the  following  century.  He  says  he  does  not 
object  to  a  young  man  becoming  a  chaplain,  so  that 
"  he  may  not  be  sent  from  table  picking  his  teeth,  and 
sighing  with  his  hat  under  his  arm,  while  the  knight 
and  my  lady  eat  up  the  tarts  and  chickens." 

Oldham's  poem  is  avowedly  a  satire  "  addressed  to 
a  friend  that  is  about  to  leave  the  university  ;  but  the 
following  lines  express  the  exact  truth : 

"  Little  the  unexperienced  wretch  does  know 
What  slavery  he  oft  must  undergo  ; 
Who,  though  in  silken  scarf  and  cassock  drest, 


THE  PARSON  OF  THE  LAST  CENTURY.    127 

Wears  but  a  gayer  livery  at  best. 

When  dinner  calls  the  implement  must  wait 

With  holy  words  to  consecrate  the  meat, 

But  hold  it  for  a  favor  seldom  known, 

If  he  be  deigned  the  honor  to  sit  down. 

Soon  as  the  tarts  appear,  '  Sir  Crape,  withdraw, 

These  dainties  are  not  for  a  spiritual  maw.' " 

The  same  custom  is  thus  alluded  to  by  Gay  in  his 
<  Trivia  : ; 

"Cheese,  that  the  table's  closing  rites  denies, 
And  bids  me  with  the  unwilling  chaplain  rise." 

For,  strange  as  it  may  seem  now,  it  was  the  usual 
custom  for  the  domestic  chaplain  to  retire  from  table 
at  the  second  course.  In  the  £  Tatler '  there  is  a  let 
ter  purporting  to  be  written  by  a  clergyman,  in  which 
he  says  :  *  "  I  am  a  chaplain  to  an  honorable  family, 
very  regular  at  the  house  of  devotion,  and,  I  hope,  of 
an  unblamable  life ;  but  for  not  offering  to  rise  at  the 

J  O 

second  course,  I  found  my  patron  and  his  lady  out  of 
humor,  though  at  first  I  did  not  know  the  reason  of  it. 
At  length,  when  I  happened  to  help  myself  to  a  jelly, 
the  lady  of  the  house,  otherwise  a  devout  woman,  told 
me  that  it  did  not  become  a  man  of  my  cloth  to  de 
light  in  such  frivolous  food  ;  but  as  I  still  continued  to 

*  'Tatler,'  No.  255. 


128  NOVELS  AND  NOVELISTS. 

sit  out  the  last  course,  I  was  yesterday  informed  by 
the  butler  that  his  lordship  had  no  further  occasion 
for  my  service." 

And  Steele,  in  his  comment  upon  this  letter,  ob 
serves  :  "  The  original  of  this  barbarous  custom  I 
take  to  have  been  merely  accidental.  The  chaplain 
retires  out  of  pure  complaisance,  to  make  room  for  the 
removal  of  the  dishes,  or  possibly  for  the  ranging  of 
the  dessert.  This  by  degrees  grew  into  a  duty,  until 
at  length,  as  the  fashion  improved,  the  good  man 
found  himself  cut  off  from  the  third  part  of  the  en 
tertainment."  In  another  letter  a  poor  chaplain  ac 
knowledges  the  benefit  he  has  received  from  the  pub 
lication  of  the  former  one,  and  the  notice  taken  of  it. 
He  says  that  he  was  helped  by  "  my  lord  "  to  a  slice 
of  fat  venison,  and  pressed  to  eat  a  jelly  or  conserve 
at  the  second  course. 

Lord  Macaulay  quotes  also  Swift's  *  Advice  to  Ser 
vants  '  to  show  that,  in  the  time  of  George  II.,  "  in  a 
great  household  the  chaplain  was  the  resource  of 
a  lady's  maid  whose  character  had  been  blown  upon, 
and  who  was  therefore  forced  to  give  up  hopes  of 
catching  the  steward."  But  in  a  recent  work  this  is 
denied,  and  the  author  calls  it  "  an  astounding  blind 
ness  to  the  purposes  of  satire,  and  a  still  more  extraor 
dinary  ignorance  of  the  artistic  devices  by  which  it 


THE  PARSON  OF  THE  LAST  CENTURY.    129 

achieves  its  ends."  *  He  says  that  throughout  the 
early  part  of  the  eighteenth  century  the  status  of  the 
wives  of  clergymen  continued  rapidly  to  improve. 
There  can,  however,  be  no  doubt  that  during  a  great 
part  of  the  century  what  in  the  Prayer  Book  are  called 
"  the  inferior  clergy,"  were  in  a  very  low  and  pitiable 
condition.  They  were  looked  down  upon  by  the  rich, 
and  thought  hardly  fit  to  associate  with  the  country 
squires.  They  drank  ale  and  smoked  tobacco  in  the 
kitchen  with  the  servants,  and  frequently  married  the 
cast-off  Abigails  of  the  housekeeper's  room.f  It  is 
impossible  to  doubt  the  testimony  which  the  literature 
of  the  age  bears  to  the  truth  of  this.J 

Thus,   when   the   young   Squire   in   Richardson's 
'  Pamela '  pretends  that  he  will  provide  a  husband  for 

*  Jeaffreson's  *  Book  of  the  Clergy.' 

t  "  The  menial  thing,  perhaps  for  a  reward, 
Is  to  some  slender  benefice  preferred, 
With  this  proviso  bound,  that  he  must  wed 
My  Lady's  antiquated  waiting-maid, 
In  dressing  only  skilled  and  marmalade." 

Oldham. 
But  these  lines  were  written  in  the  seventeenth  century. 

I  In   one  of  the  letters  of  Lady  Mary  Wortley  Montagu, 

dated  1716,  she  says,  that  "Mrs.  D is  resolved  to  marry  the 

old  greasy  curate.  .  .  .  The  curate  indeed  is  very  filthy— such 
a  red,  spongy,  warty  nose !....!  met  the  lover  (i.  e.,  the  cu 
rate)  yesterday,  going  to  the  ale-house,  in  his  dirty  night-gown, 
with  a  book  under  his  arm  to  entertain  the  club." 


130  NOVELS  AND  NOVELISTS. 

the  servant-ffirl  whose  innocence  he  wishes  to  betray, 

O  t>   / 

and  she  asks  him  who  the  person  is,  he  answers : 
"  "Why,  young  Mr.  Williams,  my  chaplain,  in  Lincoln 
shire,  who  will  make  you  very  happy." 

The  coarse,  fat,  ignorant,  and  sensual  Parson  Trul- 
liber,  feeding  his  hogs  and  talking  vulgar  gibberish,  is 
no  doubt  a  caricature ;  and  if  the  story  is  true  that 
he  was  intended  to  represent  Fielding's  own  domestic 
tutor  when  he  was  a  boy,  he  very  likely  wished  to 
pay  off  old  scores  by  making  him  as  repulsive  as  pos 
sible.  And  although  Richardson  assures  us  that  Par- 

O 

son  Adams  was  drawn  from  the  life,  it  is  difficult  to 
believe  that  a  clergyman,  however  simple-minded, 
could  have  been  engaged  in  such  scenes  as  are  de 
picted  in  c  Joseph  Andrews.'  But  the  novels  of  the 
century  furnish  abundant  and  conclusive  evidence  of 
the  low  social  position  of  the  clergy,  or  at  all  events 
of  the  country  clergy."' 

In  '  Sir  Charles  Grandison,'  the  clergyman  who  is 
called  in  to  perform  the  marriage  which  Sir  Hargravc 
Pollexfen  tries  to  force  upon  Harriet  Byron  is  thus 
described  by  her:  "A  vast,  tall,  big-boned,  splay- 

*  "  There  is  no  doubt  that  in  the  low  social  estimation,  as 
well  as  in  the  ignorance  and  coarseness,  of  many  of  his  clerical 
personages,  Fielding  has  faithfully  represented  the  degraded 
state  of  the  rural  clergy  at  the  time  when  he  wrote." — Shaw's 
'  History  of  English  Literature,'  p.  343. 


THE  PARSON  OF  THE  LAST  CENTURY.    131 

footed  man.  A  shabby  gown :  as  shabby  a  wig,  a 
huge  and  pimply  face ;  and  a  nose  that  hid  half  of  it 
when  he  looked  on  one  side,  and  he  seldom  looked 
foreriglit  when  I  saw  him.  He  had  a  dog-eared  Com 
mon  Prayer-book  in  his  hand,  which  once  had  been 
gilt,  opened,  horrid  sight !  at  the  page  of  matrimony. 
....  The  man  snuffled  his  answer  through  his  nose. 
When  he  opened  his  pouched  mouth,  the  tobacco 
hung  about  his  great  yellow  teeth.  He  squinted 
upon  me,  and.  took  my  clasped  hands  which  were 
buried  in  his  huge  hand."  In  <  Tom  Jones,'  Mrs. 
Honor,  Sophia  "Western's  maid,  says,  "  I  am  a  Chris 
tian  as  well  as  he,  and  nobody  can  say  that  I  am  base 
born  :  my  grandfather  was  a  clergyman,  and  would 
have  been  very  angry,  I  believe,  to  have  thought  any 
of  his  family  should  have  taken  up  with  Molly  Sea- 
grim's  dirty  leavings."  To  this  passage  Fielding  ap 
pends  a  note :  "  This  is  the  second  person  of  low 
condition  whom  we  have  recorded  in  this  history  to 
have  sprung  from  the  clergy.  It  is  to  be  hoped  that 
such  instances  will,  in  future  ages,  when  some  pro 
vision  is  made  for  the  families  of  the  inferior  clergy, 
appear  stranger  than  they  can  be  thought  at  present." 
A  writer  before  the  middle  of  the  last  century  thus 
describes  the  conduct  and  occupation  of  a  clergyman 
in  a  country  house  'in  Somersetshire :  "  There  was  in- 


132  NOVELS  AND  NOVELISTS. 

deed  a  clergyman  in  the  house,  who  had  quite  laid 
aside  his  sacerdotal  character,  but  acted  in  several 
capacities,  as  valet  de  chainbre,  butler,  game-keeper, 
pot-companion,  butt,  and  buffoon,  who  never  read 
prayers,  or  so  much  as  said  grace  in  the  family  while 
I  was  in  it."  * 

In  his  preface  to  the  '  Spiritual  Quixote,'  a  novel 
written  in  the  middle  of  the  last  century  by  a  clergy 
man  named  Graves,  he  makes  his  imaginary  landlord 
thus  describe  a  jolly  plump  gentleman,  who  lodged 
"  not  far  from  the  celebrated  seat  of  the  Muses  called 
Grub  Street,"  and  left  behind  him  the  manuscript 
containing  the  story  in  the  book :  "  By  his  dress, 
indeed,  I  should  have  taken  him  for  a  country 
clergyman,  but  that  he  never  drank  ale  or  smoked 
tobacco." 

A  distinction  was  of  course  allowed  to  exist  be 
tween  the  town  and  country  parson,  and  the  former 
might  be  a  gentleman,  while  the  latter  was  a  boor. 
There  is  a  paper  in  the  '  Connoisseur '  (1756),  which 
was  written  to  entertain  "  town  readers,  who  can 
have  no  other  idea  of  our  clergy  than  what  they  have 
collected  from  the  spruce  and  genteel  figures  which 
they  have  been  used  to  contemplate  here  in  doctors' 

*  'The  Contempt  of  the  Clergy  Considered,'  1739  ;  quoted 
in  Mr.  Jeaffreson's  'Book  of  the  Clergy,'  vol.  ii.,  p.  272. 


TOWN  AND  COUNTRY  PARSON.  133 

scarfs,  pudding-sleeves,  starched  bands,  and  feather- 
top  grizzles."  It  purports  to  be  a  letter  from  Don- 
caster,  and  describes  a  Yorkshire  parson,  who  is  a 
jovial  fox-hunter,  and  to  whom  Sunday  is  as  dull  and 
tedious  "  as  to  any  fine  lady  in  town."  He  takes  his 
friend  with  him  on  horseback  on  a  Sunday,  to  serve 
a  church  twenty  miles  off,  lamenting  all  the  while 
that  so  fine  and  soft  a  morning  should  be  thrown 
away  upon  a  Sunday.  "At  length  we  arrived  full 
gallop  at  the  church,  where  wre  found  the  congrega 
tion  waiting  for  us ;  but  as  Jack  had  nothing  to  do 
but  to  alight,  pull  his  band  out  of  the  sermon  case, 
give  his  brown  scratch  bob  a  shake,  and  clap  on  the 
surplice,  he  was  presently  equipped  for  the  service. 
In  short,  he  behaved  himself,  both  in  the  desk  and 
pulpit,  to  the  entire  satisfaction  of  all  the  parish,  as 
well  as  the  Squire  of  it." 

This  kind  of  clergyman  was  called  a  "  buck-par 
son,"  and  one  of  them,  who  was  chaplain  to  Lord 
Delacour,  in  Miss  Edgeworth's  novel  of  4  Belinda,'  is 
thus  described  by  Lady  Delacour :  "  It  was  the  com 
mon  practice  of  this  man  to  leap  from  his  horse  at 
the  church  door  after  following  a  pack  of  hounds, 
huddle  on  his  surplice,  and  gabble  over  the  service 
with  the  most  indecent  mockery  of  religion.  Do  I 
speak  with  acrimony  ?  I  have  reason  ;  it  was  he  who 


134:  NOVELS  AND   NOVELISTS. 

first  taught  my  lord  to  drink.  Then  he  was  a  wit — 
an  insufferable  wit !  His  conversation,  after  he  had 
drunk,  was  such  as  no  woman  but  Harriet  Freke 
could  understand,  and  such  as  few  gentlemen  could 
hear.  I  have  never,  alas  !  been  thought  a  prude,  but, 
in  the  heyday  of  my  youth  and  gayety,  this  man 
always  disgusted  me.  In  one  word,  he  was  a  buck- 
parson."  * 

It  is  difficult  to  decide  whether  the  contempt  in 
which  the  clergy  were  held  ought  to  be  considered  as 
the  cause  or  the  effect  of  such  habits,  but  most  cer 
tainly  contempt  is  the  word  which  best  expresses  the 
estimation  in  which  their  calling  was  very  generally 
regarded. 

Dr.  "Wolcott,  the  well-known  Peter  Pindar,  was 
for  many  years  a  physician,  and  in  that  capacity,  in 
1767,  accompanied  Sir  William  Trelawny  to  Jamaica, 
of  which  that  officer  was  appointed  Governor.  But 
Trelawny  thought  that  he  could  promote  his  interests 
better  in  the  church,  and  recommended  him  to  take 

*  The  term  "  parson  "  is  generally  used  in  a  contemptuous 
sense.  But  not  so  originally.  He  is  the  clergyman,  qui  PERSO- 
NAM  gerit  ecclesice,  and  'Blackstone'  says,  book  i.  c.  2  :  "The 
appellation  of  parson  (however  it  may  be  depreciated  by  famil 
iar,  clownish,  and  indiscriminate  use)  is  the  most  legal,  most 
beneficial,  and  most  honorable  title  that  a  parish-priest  can  en 
joy  ;  because  such  a  one  (Sir  Edward  Coke  observes)  is  said 
vicem  sen  personatn  ecdesice  gerere." 


CONTEMPT  OF  THE  CLERGY.       135 

orders,  saying,  "  Away  then  for  England.  Get  your 
self  japanned,  but  remember  not  to  return  with,  the 
hypocritical  solemnity  of  a  priest.  I  have  just  be 
stowed  a  good  living  on  a  parson  who  believes  not 
all  lie  preaches,  and  what  he  really  believes  he 
dares  not  preach.  You  may  very  conscientiously 
declare  that  you  have  an  internal  call,  as  the  same 
expression  will  equally  suit  a"  hungry  stomach  and 
the  soul." 

Although  all  the  parsons  in  the  novels  of  the  cen 
tury  are  not  low,  vulgar,  or  simple-minded  fools,  it  is 
undeniable  that  those  to  whom  such  epithets  are  ap 
plicable  leave  by  far  the  strongest  impression  on  the 
mind  of  the  reader.  Dr.  Eartlett,  the  family  chaplain 
in  c  Sir  Charles  Grandison,'  is  a  respectable  colorless 
person,  quite  unexceptionable  as  regards  language  and 
conduct,  as  every  one  who  lived  in  Sir  Charles's  house 
must  of  course  be.  He  is  never  tired  of  singing  the 
praises  of  his  patron,  and  rather  wearies  us  with  his 
trite  and  sententious  morality.  In  '  Clarissa  Har- 
lowe'  we  have  the  worthy  Dr.  Lewin,  and  the  pedan 
tic  Elias  Brand,  but  none  of  them  are  types  of  a  class  ; 
and,  like  Dr.  Harrison  in 'Amelia,'  they  soon  fade 
away  from  the  memory.  Dr.  Primrose  is,  of  course, 
an  exception,  but  we  must  remember  that  he  is  the 
hero  of  the  story,  the  pivot  on  which  all  the  family 


136  NOVELS  AND  NOVELISTS. 

history  turns.  And  it  is  indeed  refreshing  to  make 
the  acquaintance  of  such  a  delightful  character.  But 
as  a  set-off  against  the  typical  parson  of  the  novels, 
we  may  cite  the  example  of  Sir  Roger  de  Coverley's 
chaplain  in  the  4  Spectator,'  "  a  person  of  good  sense 
and  some  learning,  of  a  very  regular  life  and  obliging 
conversation,"  who  understood  backgammon,  and 
lived  in  the  family  rather  as  a  relation  than  a  depend 
ant,  and  who  showed  his  good  sense  by  preaching  in 
regular  succession  the  sermons  of  Tillotson,  Saunder- 
son,  Barrow,  Calamy,  and  South,  "  instead  of  wasting 
his  spirits  in  laborious  compositions  of  his  own."  He 
heartily  loved  Sir  Roger,  and  stood  high  in  the  old 
knight's  esteem,  having  lived  with  him  thirty  years, 
during  which  time  there  had  not  been  a  lawsuit  in  the 
parish. 

It  was  the  custom  for  a  clergyman  always  to  go 
abroad  in  his  cassock,  and  if  we  might  trust  Mr.  Dis 
raeli's  '  Lothair,'  we  should  believe  it  to  be  the  custom 
now,  for  he  represents  curates  at  Muriel  Towers  play 
ing  at  croquet  in  this  dress.  Parson  Adams,  in  '  Jo 
seph  Andrews,'  sits  smoking  his  pipe  with  a  night-cap 
drawn  over  his  wig,  and  "  a  short  great-coat  which 
half  covered  his  cassock."  "  Is  the  gentleman  a  cler 
gyman  then  ?  says  Barnabas,  for  his  cassock  had  been 
tied  up  when  he  first  arrived."  When  Adams  visits 


THE  CASSOCK.  137 

Trulliber — "After  a  short  pause  Adams  said,  *I  fancy, 
sir,  you  already  perceive  me  to  be  a  clergyman.' 
'  Ay.  ay,'  cries  Trulliber,  grinning,  '  I  perceive  you 
have  some  cassock,  I  will  not  venture  to  call  it  a 
whole  one.'  Adams  answered,  £It  was  indeed  none 
of  the  best,  but  he  had  the  misfortune  to  tear  it  about 
ten  years  ago  in  passing  over  a  stile.' ':  And  when 
he  is  attacked  by  the  hounds,  they  mistake  the  skirts 
of  his  cassock  for  a  hare's  skin,  and  he  escapes  by 
leaving  a  third  part  of  it  as  exuvice  or  spoil  to  the 
enemy.  In  going  about  thus  clothed,  the  clergy,  how 
ever,  obeyed  one  of  the  canons  of  the  church ;  for  by 
the  74th  it  is  enjoined  that  they  "  shall  usually  wear 
in  their  journeys  cloaks  with  sleeves,  commonly  called 
priests'  cloaks,  without  guards,  welts,  long  buttons,  or 
cuts.  And  no  ecclesiastical  person  shall  wear  any 
coif  or  wrought  night-cap,  but  only  plain  night-caps 
of  black  silk,  satin,  or  velvet  ....  and  that  in  pub 
lic  they  go  not  in  their  doublet  and  hose,  without 
coats  or  cassocks ;  and  that  they  wear  not  any  light- 
colored  stockings."  * 

*  In  1729  the  Rev.  Thomas  Kinnersley  was  convicted  of 
forging  a  promissory  note,  and  being  sentenced  to  stand 
twice  in  the  pillory,  he  appeared  both  times,  first  at  the  Royal 
Exchange,  and  next  at  Fetter-lane  end  in  Fleet  Street,  "  in  his 
canonical  habit,  thinking  to  draw  compassion  and  respect  from 


138  NOVELS  AND  NOVELISTS. 

One  of  the  most  curious  things,  as  throwing  light 
upon  the  position  of  many  of  the  clergy,  is  the  his 
tory  of  Fleet  marriages,  on  which  I  will  say  a  few 
words. 

While  the  hero  in  '  Peregrine  Pickle '  is  in  the 
Fleet  Prison,  he  makes  the  acquaintance  of  a  clergy 
man  "who  found  means  to  enjoy  a  pretty  consider 
able  income  by  certain  irregular  practices  in  the  way 
of  his  function."  That  this  was  quite  possible,  we 
know  from  the  entries  that  still  exist  in  those  very 
curious  books  called  Fleet  Registers.  On  the  cover 
of  one  of  them  there  is  the  following  memoraii- 

O 

dum : 

"Mr.  Wyatt,  Minister  of  the  Fleet,  is  removed 
from  the  Two  Sawyers,  the  corner  of  Fleet  Lane 
(with  all  the  Register  Books)  to  the  Hand  and  Pen, 
near  Holborn  Bridge,  where  marriages  are  solemnized 
without  imposition." 

And  it  appears  that  he  received  for  weddings  in 
the  month  of  October,  1748,  no  less  a  sum  than  572. 
12-5.  9d. 

These  parsons  used  to  advertise  their  trade  in 
handbills,  of  which  I  will  give  a  specimen  : 

the  populace,  but  it  had  the  contrary  effect." — HowelFs  '  State 
Trials,'  vol.  xvii.  p.  296. 


FLEET  MARRIAGES.  139 


G.  R. 

At  the  true  Chapel 
at  the  old  red  Hand  and  Mitre,  three  doors  from  Fleet  Lane, 

and  next  Door  to  the  White  Swan  ; 

Marriages  are  performed  by  authority  by  the  Reverend  Mr. 

Symson,  educated  at  the  University  of  Cambridge,  and  late 

Chaplain  to  the  Earl  of  Rothes. 

1ST.  B.    Without  Imposition. 


How  tlie  practice  began  is  not  altogether  clear. 
The  earliest  Register  is  dated  1674,  but  it  must  have 
commenced  much  earlier,  for  in  a  letter  from  Alder 
man  Lowe  to  Lady  Ilickes,  in  1613  he,  says  :  "Now  I 
am  to  inform  you  that  an  ancyent  acquayntance  of 
y"  and  myne  is  yesterday  married  in  the  Fleete,  one 
Mr.  George  Lester,  and  hath  maryed  Mrfc  Babbing- 
ton,  Mr.  Thomas  Fanshawe's  mother-in-lawe.  It  is 
saved  she  is  a  woman  of  good  wealthe,  so  as  nowe  the 
man  wvylle  be  able  to  lyve  and  mayntayn  hymself  in 
prison,  for  hether  unto  he  hath  byne  in  poor  estate." 

The  entries  in  these  Registers,  and  the  pocket- 
books  of  the  parsons,  reveal  a  shocking  state  of  profli 
gacy  and  vice.  In  one  of  the  latter,  belonging  to  the 
same  Mr.  Wyatt,  who  carried  on  so  lucrative  a  trade, 
under  the  date  of  1736,  he  says  :  * 

*  Lansdowne  MSS.  93-17,  quoted  in   Burn's    '  History  of 


140  NOVELS  AND  NOVELISTS.     - 

"  Give  to  every  man  his  due,  and  learn  ye  way  of 
Truth. 

"  This  advice  cannot  be  taken  by  those  that  are 
concerned  in  ye  Fleet  marriages ;  not  so  much  as  yc 
priest  can  do  ye  thing  yt  is  just  and  right  there,  unless 
he  designs  to  starve.  For  by  lying,  bullying,  and 
swearing,  to  extort  money  from  the  silly  and  unwary 
people,  you  advance  your  business,  and  gets  ye  pelf 
which  always  wastes  like  snow  in  sun  shiney  day. 

"  The  fear  of  the  Lord  is  the  beginning  of  wisdom. 
The  marrying  in  the  Fleet  is  the  beginning  of  eternal 
woe. 

"  If  a  dark  or  plyer  tells  a  lye,  you  must  vouch  it 
to  be  as  true  as  ye  gospel,  and  if  disputed  you  must 
affirm  with  an  oath  to  ye  truth  of  a  downright  damna 
ble  falsehood.  Virtus  laudatur  et  alget. 

"  May  God  forgive  me  what  is  past,  and  give  me 
grace  to  forsake  such  a  wicked  place,  where  truth  and 
virtue  can't  take  place  unless  you  are  resolved  to 
starve." 

Tavern-keepers  within  the  Eules  of  the  Fleet  used 
to  keep  clergymen  in  their  pay  at  a  salary  of  a  pound 
a  week — and  touters  or  "  plyers,"  as  they  were  called, 
were  always  on  the  lookout  for  customers.  From  an 

Fleet  Marriages,'  to  which  I  am  indebted  for  many  of  these 
curious  particulars. 


FLEET  MARRIAGES. 

anonymous  letter  in  the  Bishop  of  London's  Registry, 
written  between  1702  and  1714,  we  learn  something 
of  the  character  of  these  parsons  :  "  There  is  also  one 
Mr.  Nehemiah  Rogers ;  he  is  a  prisoner,  but  goes  at 
large  to  his  Living  in  Essex,  and  all  places  else  ;  he  is 
a  very  wicked  man  as  lives  for  drinking  ....  and 
swearing  ;  he  has  struck  and  boxed  the  bridegroom  in 
the  chappie,  and  damned  like  any  com'on  souldier ; 
he  marries  both  within  and  without  the  chappie  like 
his  brother  Colton."  And  in  the  '  Weekly  Journal ' 
of  February,  1717,  there  is  an  account  of  a  trial  of 
one  John  Mottram,  clerk,  for  solemnizing  clandestine 
and  unlawful  marriages  in  the  Fleet  Prison,  and  keep 
ing  fraudulent  registers,  in  which  it  was  proved  that 
he  kept  nine  separate  registers  at  different  houses 
which  contained  many  scandalous  frauds.  "  It  rather 
appeared  from  evidence  that  these  sham  marriages 
were  solemnized  in  a  room  in  the  Fleet  they  call 
the  Lord  Mayor's  Chappel,  which  was  furnished  with 
chairs,  cushions,  and  proper  conveniencies,  and  that  a 
coal-heaver  was  generally  set  to  ply  at  the  door  to 
recommend  all  couples  that  had  a  mind  to  be  married, 
to  the  prisoner,  who  would  do  it  cheaper  than  any 
body.  It  further  appeared,  that  one  of  the  registers 
only,  contained  above  2200  entrys  which  had  been 
made  within  the  last  year."  The  reverend  gentleman 


142  NOVELS  AND  NOVELISTS. 

was  tried  at  Guildhall,  before  Chief-Justice  Parker, 
found  guilty,  and  find  £200. 

In  the  '  Grub  Street  Journal '  of  January  15, 1784, 
there  is  a  letter  signed  "Virtuous,"  which  gives  a 
graphic  account  of  the  scandalous  way  in  which  such 
marriages  took  place : 

"  These  ministers  of  wickedness  ply  about  Luel- 
gate  Hill,  pulling  and  forcing  people  to  some  peel- 
ling  ale-house,  or  a  brandy-shop,  to  be  married ;  even 
on  a  Sunday,  stopping  them  as  they  go  to  Church, 
and  almost  tearing  their  clothes  off  their  backs.  To 
confirm  the  truth  of  these  facts,  I  will  give  you  a  case 
or  two  which  lately  happened.  Since  Midsummer 
last,  a  young  lady  of  fortune  was  deluded  and  forced 
from  her ^  friends,  and  by  the  assistance  of  a  wry- 
necked  swearing  parson,  married  to  an  atheistical 
wretch,  whose  life  is  a  continued  practice  of  all  man 
ner  of  vice  and  debauchery.  And  since  the  ruin  of 
my  relation,  another  lady  of  my  acquaintance  had 
like  to  have  been  trepanned  in  the  following  manner : 
This  lady  had  appointed  to  meet  a  gentlewoman  at 
the  Old  Playhouse  in  Drury  Lane  ;  but  extraordinary 
business  prevented  her  coming.  Being  alone  when 
the  play  was  done,  she  bade  a  boy  call  a  coach  for  the 
City.  One  dressed  like  a  gentleman  helps  her  into  it, 
and  jumps  in  after  her.  c  Madame,'  says  he,  "this 


FLEET  MARRIAGES. 

coacli  was  called  for  me,  and  since  the  weather  is  so 
Lad  and  there  is  no  other,  I  beg  leave  to  bear  you 
company :  I  am  going  into  the  City,  and  will  set  you 
down  wherever  yon  please.'  The  lady  begged  to  be 
excused,  but  he  bade  the  coachman  drive  on.  Being 
come  to  Ludgate  Hill,  he  told  her  his  sister,  who 
waited  his  coming,  but  five  doors  up  the  Court,  would 
go  with  her  in  two  minutes.  He  went  and  returned 
with  his  pretended  sister,  who  asked  her  to  step  in 
one  minute,  and  she  would  wait  upon  her  in  the 
coach.  Deluded  with  the  assurance  of  having  his  sis 
ters  company,  the  poor  lady  foolishly  followed  her 
into  the  house,  when  instantly  the  sister  vanished, 
and  a  tawny  fellow  in  a  black  coat  and  a  black  wig 
appeared.  '  Madam,  you  are  come  in  good  time, 
the  Doctor  was  just  a  going.'  'The  Doctor!'  says 
she,  horribly  frighted,  fearing  it  was  a  mad-house. 
'  What  has  the  Doctor  to  do  with  me  ? '  c  To  marry 
you  to  that  gentleman  ;  the  Doctor  has  waited  for  you 
these  three  hours,  and  will  be  paid  by  you  or  by  that 
gentleman  before  you  go  ! '  'That  gentleman  ! '  says 
she,  recovering  herself,  £  is  worthy  a  better  fortune 
than  mine  ; '  and  begged  hard  to  be  gone.  But  Dr. 
Wryneck  swore  she  should  be  married,  or  if  she 
would  not,  he  would  still  have  his  fee,  and  register  the 
marriage  from  that  night.  The  lady  finding  she 


144  NOVELS  AND  NOVELISTS. 

could  not  escape  without  money  or  a  pledge,  told 
them  she  liked  the  gentleman  so  well,  she  would  cer 
tainly  meet  him  to-morrow  night,  and  gave  them  a 
ring  as  a  pledge,  which,  says  she,  i  was  my  mother's 
gift  on  her  death-bed,  enjoining  that  if  ever  I  mar 
ried,  it  should  be  my  wedding  ring.'  By  which  cun 
ning  contrivance  she  was  delivered  from  the  black 
Doctor  and  his  tawny  crew.  Sometime  after  this,  I 
went  with  this  lady  and  her  brother  in  a  coach  to 
Ludgate  Hill,  in  the  day-time,  to  see  the  manner  of 
their  picking  up  people  to  be  married.  As  soon  as 
our  coach  stopped  near  Fleet  Bridge,  up  comes  one  of 
the  myrmidons.  '  Madam,'  says  he,  ( you  want  a  par 
son  ? '  '  Who  are  you  ? '  says  I.  '  I  am  the  Clerk  and 
Eegister  of  the  Fleet.'  '  Show  me  the  Chapel.'  At 
which  comes  a  second,  desiring  me  to  go  along  with 
him.  Says  he  f  that  fellow  will  carry  you  to  a  ped- 
ling  ale-house.'  Says  a  third,  *  go  with  me,  he  will 
carry  you  to  a  brandy-shop.'  In  the  interim  comes 
the  Doctor.  '  Madam,'  says  he,  c  I'll  do  your  job  for 
you  presently.'  '  Well,  gentlemen,'  says  I,  '  since  you 
can't  agree,  and  I  can't  be  married  quietly,  I'll  put  it 
off  till  another  time,'  so  drove  away." 

Nor  were  these  marriages  confined  to  the  lower 
classes.  In  1724,  Lord  Abergavenny  was  married  at 
the  Fleet  to  Miss  Tatton;  and  in  1744,  Mr.  Henry 


FLEET  MARRIAGES. 

Fox,  afterward  created  Baron  Holland,  was  married 
there  to  Lady  Georgiana  Gordon,  the  eldest  daughter 
of  the  Duke  of  Richmond. 

One  of  the  most  notorious  of  the  Fleet  parsons 
was  Dr.  Gaynham  or  Garnham,  popularly  known  as 
the  Bishop  of  Hell,  "  a  very  lusty,  jolly  man,"  who 
being  asked  at  a  trial,  where  he  gave  evidence, 
whether  he  wras  not  ashamed  to  come  and  own  a  clan 
destine  marriage  in  the  face  of  a  Court  of  Justice, 
replied,  bowing  to  the  Judge,  "  Video  meliora,  dete- 
riora  sequor"  On  another  occasion,  when  questioned 
as  to  his  recollection  of  the  prisoner,  he  said :  u  Can  I 
remember  persons  ?  I  have  married  2,000  since  that 
time."  The  entry  of  a  marriage  by  the  Rev.  John 
Evans  has  the  following  memorandum  attached  to  it : 

"  Pd.  one  shilling  only ;  the  Bridegroom  a  boy 
about  eighteen  years  of  age,  and  the  Bride  about  six 
ty-five.  They  were  brought  in  a  coach  and  attended 
by  four  Qv^invg  whopw  (sic)  out  of  Drury  Lane  as 
guests."  Another  of  these  worthies  was  the  Rev. 
John  Flint,  who  died  in  1729.  He  dispensed  with 
marriage  in  his  own  case  and  kept  a  mistress,  called 
Mrs.  Blood.  One  of  his  entries  is :  "  Paid  three  shil 
lings  and  sixpence,  certificate  one  and  sixpence ;  it 
being  pretty  late,  they  lay  here,  and  paid  me  one 
shilling  for  bed  (a  kind  girl)."  Another  is,  "The 


146  NOVELS  AND  NOVELISTS. 

man  had  five  shillings  for  marrying  her,  of  which  I 
had  one  and  sixpence.  JS".  B.  The  above  said  person 
marries  in  common."  In  several  cases  it  is  noticed 
that  the  bridegroom  had  something  paid  to  him  "  for 
his  trouble,"  the  object  of  the  lady  being  to  be  able  to 
plead  coverture  in  case  of  her  arrest  for  debt.  Other 
memoranda  in  these  books  are  :  "  I  gave  a  certificate, 
for  which  I  had  only  quartern  of  brandy."  "  Two 
most  notorious  Thieves."  "  This  marriage  upon  hon 
our."  "  Brought  by  a  Counsellor."  "  Married  upon 
Tick."  "N.  B.  married  for  nothing  to  oblige  ]VIr. 
Golden,  Attorney-att-Law."  "Stole  my  clothes 
brush."  "  Her  eyes  very  black,  and  he  beat  about  ye 
face  very  much." 

"Having  a  mistrust  of  some  Irish  roguery,  1  took 
upon  me  to  ask  what  ye  gentleman's  name  was,  his  age, 
etc.,  and  likewise  the  lady's  name  and  age.  Answer 
made  me — What  was  that  to  me.  G —  dam  me,  if 
I  did  not  immediately  marry  them  he  would  use  me 
ill;  in  short,  apprehending  it  to  be  a  conspiracy,  I 
found  myself  obliged  to  marry  them  in  terror  em. 
!N".  B.  Some  material  part  was  omitted." 

"The  woman  ran  across  Ludgate  Hill  in.  her 
shift."  * 

*  This  was  owing  to  a  vulgar  opinion  that  a  husband  was 
not  liable  for  his  wife's  debts  if  he  took  her  in  no  other  dress 


FLEET  MARRIAGES. 

"  He  dressed  in  a  gold  waistcoat  like  an  officer ; 
she  a  beautiful  young  lady  with  two  fine  diamond 
rings  and  a  Black  high  crown  Hat,  and  very  well 
dressed — at  Boyce's." 

These  extracts  are  sufficient  to  prove  the  preva 
lence  of  such  disreputable  practices,  and  to  justify 
what  Smollett  says  in  his  novel  called  '  The  Adven 
tures  of  Count  Fathom  : '  "  This  would  have  been  a 
difficulty  soon  removed  had  the  scene  of  the  transac 
tion  been  laid  in  the  metropolis  of  England,  where 
passengers  are  plied  in  the  streets  by  clergymen,  who 
prostitute  their  characters  and  consciences  for  hire,  in 
defiance  of  all  decency  and  law." 

Notwithstanding  the  infamous  character  of  such 
marriages,  those  that  took  place  before  the  Marriage 
Act  26  Geo.  II.  c.  33  (1753),  came  into  operation  on 
the  25th  of  March,  1754,  were  unquestionably  valid. 
It  Avas  at  one  time  doubted  whether  the  Fleet  Regis 
ters  were  or  were  not  admissible  in  evidence  to  prove 
a  marriage.  They  seem  to  have  been  admitted  by 
Mr.  Justice  "Willes  on  a  trial  at  York  in  1780 ;  by  Mr. 
Justice  Heath  in  1794 ;  and  in  the  same  year,  with 
considerable  doubt,  by  Lord  Chief-Justice  Kenyon.* 

but  her  shift.     For  an  instance  of  the  custom,  see  '  Ann.  Reg.' 
17GG,  Chron.  p.  10G. 

*  A  Fleet  Register  was  admitted  as  evidence  by  Mr.  Justice 


148  NOVELS  AND   NOVELISTS. 

But  soon  afterward  lie  refused  to  admit  them,  and 
said  that  in  a  case  before  Lord  Hardwicke,  where  one 
of  the  Register  books  was  offered  in  evidence,  he  tore 
the  book  and  declared  that  such  evidence  could  never 
be  admitted  in  a  court  of  justice.  It  is  now  settled 
law  that  the  Registers  are  not  admissible  as  evidence 
to  prove  a  marriage  •  but  they  may,  when  signed  by 
the  parties,  be  received  in  pedigree  cases  as  declara 
tions  of  deceased  members  of  the  family. 

A  great  destruction  of  papers  and  documents  at 
the  Fleet  took  place  at  the  time  of  the  Lord  George 
Gordon  riots,  in  1780 ;  but  a  large  number  of  the 
Registers  and  pocket-books,  which  were  in  the  pos 
session  of  the  proprietors  of  the  taverns  and  houses 
where  marriages  were  celebrated  after  passing  through 
parsons'  hands,  were  purchased  by  Government,  and 
deposited  in  the  Registry  of  the  Consistory  Court  of 
London.  There  are  two  or  three  hundred  large  Re 
gisters,  and  upward  of  a  thousand  dirty  little  pocket- 

Powel,  on  the  trial  of  Beau  Fielding,  in  1706,  for  bigamy,  in 
intermarrying  with  the  Duchess  of  Cleveland,  in  order  to 
prove  that  his  first  wife,  Mary  Wadsworth,  had  been  previously 
married  to,  and  was  then,  the  wife  of  one  Bradley.  But  even 
according  to  the  loose  notions  of  evidence  which  then  prevailed, 
the  entry  for  other  reasons,  which  it  would  be  too  technical  to 
discuss  here,  ought  to  have  been  peremptorily  rejected.  Beau 
Fielding  was  found  guilty,  but  escaped  punishment  by  having 
the  benefit  of  clergy.  See '  State  Trials,'  vol.  xiv.  1327. 


FLEET  MARRIAGES. 

books,  in  which  entries  of  the  marriages  were  made. 
Besides  these,  there  are  registers  of  marriage  per 
formed  in  the  King's  Bench  Prison,  the  Mint,  and 
May  Fair,  where  the  same  practice  existed.  The 
May  Fair  Chapel  was  built  in  1730,  and  was  a  sort 
of  opposition  house  to  the  Fleet  for  the  purpose  of 
matrimony.  It  seems,  however,  to  have  been  sup 
pressed,  and  in  the  c  Daily  Post '  of  July,  1744,  the 
following  advertisement  appears  : 

u  To  prevent  mistakes,  the  little  new  chapel  in 
May  Fair,  near  Hyde  Park  Corner,  is  in  the  corner 
house  opposite  to  the  city  side  of  the  great  chapel, 
and  within  ten  yards  of  it,  and  the  minister  and  clerk 
live  in  the  same  corner  house,  where  the  little  chapel 
is,  and  the  license  on  a  crown  stamp,  and  the  minister 
a] id  clerk's  fees,  together  with  the  certificate,  amount 
to  one  guinea  as  heretofore,  at  any  hour  till  four  in 
the  afternoon.  And  that  it  may  be  the  better  known, 
there  is  a  porch  at  the  door  like  a  country  church 
porch."  In  1752  the  marriage  of  the  Duke  of  Ham 
ilton  and  Miss  Gunning  took  place  in  a  May  Fair 
chapel.  One  of  these  chapels  belonged  to  the  Hey. 
Mr.  Keith,  who  is  said  to  have  married  in  one  day 
173  couples.  He  thus  advertises  his  place  of  business 
in  the  i  Daily  Advertiser,'  in  1753  : 

"  Mr.  Keith's  chapel,  in  May  Fair,  Park  Corner, 


150  NOVELS  AND  NOVELISTS. 

where  the  marriages  are  performed,  by  virtue  of  a 
license  on  a  crown  stamp,  and  certificate  for  a  guinea, 
is  opposite  to  the  great  chapel,  and  within  ten  yards 
of  it.  The  way  is  through  Piccadilly,  by  the  end  of 
St.  James's  Street,  down  Clarges  Street  and  turn  on 
the  left  hand." 

On  many  houses  signs  were  hung  out,  and  over 
the  door  were  written  the  words,  "  Marriages  done 
here ;  "  while  .touters  accosted  passengers  with  the 
cry,  "  Do  you  want  a  parson  ? "  "  "Will  you  be  mar 
ried  ? "  Sion  Chapel,  at  Ilampstead,  which  seems  to 
have  belonged  to  the  keeper  of  an  adjoining  tavern, 
was  a  favorite  place  of  resort,  and  was  thus  adver 
tised  in  the  '  Weekly  Journal '  of  September  8,  1718  : 

"Sion  Chapel,  at  Hampstead,  being  a  private  and 
pleasant  place,  many  persons  of  the  best  fashion  have 
lately  been  married  there.  Now,  as  a  minister  is 
obliged  constantly  to  attend,  this  is  to  give  notice, 
that  all  persons  upon  bringing  a  license,  and  wrho 
shall  have  their  wedding-dinner  in  the  gardens,  may 
be  married  in  the  said  chapel  without  giving  any  fee 
or  reward  whatsoever  ;  and  such  as  do  not  keep  their 
wedding-dinner  in  the  gardens,  only  five  shillings  wrill 
be  demanded  of  them  for  all  fees."  Like  most  abuses, 
the  facility  of  celebrating  clandestine  marriages  was 
clung  to  as  a  great  social  privilege  ;  and  the  Marriage 


FLEET  MAKRIAGES.  151 

Act,  26  Geo.  II.  c.  33,  which  put  an  end  to  them,  was 
strongly  opposed.  Horace  Walpole  says,  in  one  of 
his  letters,  that  the  Act  was  so  drawn  by  the  judges 
"  as  to  clog  all  matrimony  in  general."  *  It  was  for' 
some  time  evaded  by  persons  going  to  the  Channel 
Islands,  which  were  not  within  its  operation  ;  and,  in 
the  (  Gentleman's  Magazine '  of  1T60,  we  read  that 
there  wrere  "  at  Southampton  vessels  always  ready  to 
carry  on  the  trade  of  smuggling  wTeddings,  which,  for 
the  price  of  five  guineas,  transport  contraband  goods 
into  the  land  of  matrimony." 

*  When  Dr.  King,  the  public  orator  at  Oxford,  presented 
candidates  for  the  degree  of  Doctor  of  Law  at  the  Installation 
in  1754,  he  fiercely  denounced  the  new  law.  "  The  times,"  he 
said,  "  were  so  horribly  corrupt  that  we  had  agreed  to  sell  our 
daughters  by  the  late  Marriage  Act.  Sweet  creatures !  it  was 
ten  thousand  pities  that  such  fine  girls  as  then  filled  the  theatre 
should  be  sold  by  their  unnatural  parents,  and  perhaps  (dread 
ful  thought !)  even  to  Whig  husbands.  But  he  was  sure  that 
such  beautiful  and  elegant  ladies  as  were  there  assembled  were 
on  the  right  side,  and  he  advised  them  to  wear  upon  their 
rings,  and  embroider  upon  their  garments,  the  maxim :  '  The 
man  who  sells  his  country  will  sell  his  wife  or  his  daughter,"1 — upon 
which  there  was  loud  applause." — *  Correspondence  of  Richard 
son,'  vol.  ii.  p.  190. 


CHAPTEK  IY. 

THE  OLD  ROMANCES.— '  THE  FEMALE  QUIXOTE.1— NOVELS  OF  THE 
LAST  CENTURY.  — THEIR  COARSENESS  AND  ITS  APOLOGISTS.— 
'CHRYSAL,  OR  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  GUINEA.'— '  POMPEY/— 
•THE  FOOL  OF  QUALITY/— TWO  CLASSES  OF  NOVELS.— '  SIMPLE 
STORY:— THE  COMIC  NOVELS. 

I  COME  now  to  speak  more  particularly  of  the  nov 
els.  It  would  be  easy  for  an  author  to  make  a  parade 
of  learning,  if  an  acquaintance  with  novels  and  ro 
mances  can  be  called  learning,  by  quoting  the  names 
of  old  authors  and  their  works,  and  leaving  the  reader 
to  suppose  that  he  was  familiar  with  their  contents. 
I  might  go  back  to  remote  antiquity  and  speak  of  the 
c  Books  of  Love  '  of  Clearchus  the  Cilician — of  Jam- 
blichus,  who  wrote  the  '  Adventures  of  Rhodanes  '- 
of  Heliodorus  of  Emesus,  the  author  of  (  Theogenus 
and  Chariclea' — of  Achilles  Tatius,  who  wrote  the 
'  Amours  of  Clitophon  and  Leucippe7 — of  Damascius, 
who  composed  four  books  of  fiction — of  the  three 
Xenophons  mentioned  by  Suidas — of  the  parables  of 
the  Indian  Sandabar  and  the  fables  of  Pilpay — of  the 
lying  legends  of  the  Talmud — of  the  famous  Milesian 


THE   OLD  ROMANCES.  153 

tales,  and  Aristides  the  most  famous  of  the  authors — 
of  Dionysius  the  Milesian  who  wrote  fabulous  histo 
ries — of  the  romance  of  'Dinias  and  Dercyllis,'  of 
which  Antonius  Diogenes  was  the  author,  or  the  still 
older  romances  of  Antiphanes — of  Parthenius  office 
—of  the  '  True  and  Perfect  Love '  of  Athenagoras — 
of  the  '  Golden  Ass '  of  Apuleius — of  the  '  Amours  of 
Diocles  and  Rhodanthe,'  by  Theodorus  Prodromus, 
and  those  of  '  Ismenias  and  Ismene,'  by  Gustathius, 
Bishop  of  Thessalonica ;  and,  coming  lower  down  into 
the  Middle  Ages,  of  the  novels  of  Boccaccio  and  the 
Romances  of  Garin  de  Loheran,  '  Tristan,'  i  Lancelot 
clu  Lac,'  'St.  Greal,'  ' Merlin,'  'Arthur,'  ' Perceval,' 
'  Perceforet,'  '  Amadis  de  Gaul,'  '  Palmerin  of  Eng 
land,'  and  '  Don  Beliaris  of  Greece ; '  and  in  more 
modern  times,  of  the  '  Astrsea '  of  Monsieur  d'Urfe, 
and  the  '  Illustrious  Bassa ' — the  'Grand  Cyrus'  and 
'  Clelia '  of  Mademoiselle  de  Scuderi,  who  is  called  by 
Monsieur  Huet,  the  Bishop  of  Avranches,  in  his  let 
ters  to  Monsieur  de  Legrais  '  On  the  Original  of  Ro 
mances,'  a  grave  and  virtuous  virgin — the  'Roman 
Comique'  of  Scarron,  and  the  'Zaide'  and  'Princesse 
de  Cleves'  of  Madame  de  la  Fayette — the  'Phara- 
niond,'  '  Cassandra,'  and  '  Cleopatra '  of  M.  de  la  Cal- 
prenede ;  and,  to  come  to  our  own  country,  of  '  Eu- 
phues,'  by  John  Lylie,  who  was  born  in  1553 — of  '  the 


NOVELS  AND  NOVELISTS. 

famous  delectable  and  pleasant  Hystorie,  of  the  re 
nowned  Parrissius,  Prince  of  Bohemia,'  and  the  '  Or- 
natus  and  Artesia '  of  Ford,  who  lived  in  the  reign  of 
Elizabeth — of  Greene's  i  Philomela  '  "  penned  to  ap 
prove  women's  chastity,"  and  his  '  Pandosto  the  Tri 
umph  of  Time,'  from  which  Shakespeare  borrowed 
the  plot  of  his  '  Winter's  Tale,'— of  Barclay's  <  Arge- 
nis,' — of  'Eliana,'  published  in  1661 — and  of  the 
£  Parthenissa '  of  Roger  Boyle,  Earl  of  Orrery — I 
might,  I  say,  pretend  to  be  familiar  with  these  works, 
but  for  two  reasons,  first,  that  many  of  them  have 
long  ceased  to  exist,  and,  secondly,  that  no  appetite 
for  books  could  be  supposed  to  induce  a  man  now  to 
face  the  appalling  dulness  and  interminable  length 
of  most  of  these  old  romances.  As  Sydney  Smith 
says,  "  human  life  has  been  distressingly  abridged 
since  the  flood,"  and  considering  the  multiplicity  of 
demands  upon  one's  time  now,  it  is  really  too  short 
to  wade  through  the  ponderous  romances  of  the  sev 
enteenth  century,  which  Sir  "Walter  Scott  aptly  de 
scribed  when  he  called  them  "  huge  folios  of  inanity 
over  which  our  ancestors  yawned  themselves  to 
sleep." 

In  Leonora's  Library,  which,  the  i  Spectator '  vis 
ited  in  order  to  deliver  to  her  a  letter  from  Sir  Hoger 
de  Coverley,  he  found  i  Astrea,'  '  The  Grand  Cyrus,' 


'THE   FEMALE   QUIXOTE.'  155 

"with  a  pin  stuck  in  one  of  the  middle  leaves,"  '  Cle- 
lia,'  which  opened  of  itself  in  the  place  that  de 
scribes  two  lovers  in  a  bower,  the  '  Xew  Atalantis ' 
u  with  a  key  to  it,"  and  all  the  classic  authors  "  in 
wood." 

It  was  to  ridicule  the  taste  for  such  romances  as 
these  that  Mrs.  Lennox  published  her  '  Female  Qui 
xote,'  in  1752,*  in  which  the  heroine  Arabella,  the  only 
child  of  a  widowed  and  misanthropic  marquis,  is  sup 
posed  to  be  brought  up  in  seclusion  in  the  country, 
where  she  has  access  to  a  library  full  of  old  romances, 
by  which  her  head  is  almost  as  much  turned  as  that 
of  the  Knight  of  La  Mancha  was  by  the  same  kind 
of  study.  She  takes  a  young  gardener  in  her  father's 
service  for  a  nobleman  in  disguise,  and  is  with  diffi 
culty  undeceived  when  he  gets  a  thrashing  for  steal 
ing  carp  from  a  pond.  The  book  is  cleverly  written, 
and  is  useful  as  enabling  us  to  get  at  second  hand  a 
knowledge  of  the  romances  which  were  Lady  Ara 
bella's  favorite  reading.  She  has  a  cousin  named 
Glanville,  who  is  in  love  writh  her  for  her  beauty,  but 
is  sorely  puzzled  by  her  conduct,  and  wholly  ignorant 
of  the  books  on  which  she  has  modelled  it.  In  order 

*  Hichardson  says  of  the  authoress  :  "  The  writer  has  genius. 
She  is  hardly  twenty-four,  and  has  been  unhappy." — 'Corre 
spondence,'  vol.  yi.  p.  243. 


156  NOVELS  AND  NOVELISTS. 

to  instruct  him,  she  bids  one  of  her  women  to  bring 
from  her  library  i  Cleopatra,'  '  Cassandra/  '  Clelia.' 
and  i  the  Grand  Cyrus,'  and  leaves  him  to  peruse 
them.  But  he  is  bewildered  by  their  length,  and 
turns  over  the  pages  in  despair.  She  then  examines 
him  as  to  his  proficiency,  and  convicts  him  of  his  de 
ception  in  pretending  to  have  read  them,  when  he 
talks  of  Orontes  and  Oroontades  as  two  lovers  of  Sta- 
tira,  whereas  "  if  lie  had  read  a  single  page,  he  would 
have  known  that  Orontes  and  Oroontades  was  the 
same  person,  the  name  of  Orontes  being  assumed  by 
Oroontades  to  conceal  his  real  name  and  quality." 

But  although  the  Lady  Arabella  talks  in  the  strain 
of  Catlios  and  Madelon  in  ^Lcs  Precieuses  Ridicules ' 
of  Moliere,  the  novel  wants  the  wit  of  that  admirable 
comedy,  and  as  a  satire  it  has  lost  its  point,  for  no 
body — certainly  no  young  lady-— at  the  present  day 
knows  or  cares  any  thing  of  the  '  Loves  of  Artemisa 
and  Candace,'  of  the  c  Great  Sisygambis,'  or  the  re 
nowned  '  Artaban' — and  I  fear  that  such  illustrations 
of  love  as  are  quoted  by  Arabella,  would  now  be  the 
utterance  of  an  unknown  tongue.  For  instance — 
"  Love  is  ingenious  in  artifices ;  who  would  have 
thought  that  under  the  name  of  Alcippus,  a  simple 
attendant  of  the  fair  Artemisa,  princess  of  Armenia, 
the  gallant  Alexander,  son  of  the  great  and  unfortu- 


WHERE   ARE   THEY  NOW?  157 

nate  Antony,  by  Queen  Cleopatra,  was  concealed,  who 
took  upon  himself  that  mean  condition  for  the  sake 
of  seeing  his  adored  princess  ?  " 

The  time  has  gone  by  when,  as  the  Bishop  of  Av- 
ranches  tells  us,  he  and  his  sisters  were  obliged  to  lay 
down  the  'Astnea '  of  M.  d'Urfe  while  reading  it,  in 
order  that  they  might  indulge  freely  in  their  tears ; 
and  it  would  be  difficult  for  Boileau,  if  he  were  alive, 
to  find  now,  in  either  town  or  country— 

"  Deux  nobles  campagnards,  grands  lecteurs  de  romans, 
Qui  m'ont  dit  tout  Cyrus  dans  leurs  longs  complimens."  * 

Old  Thomas  Gent,  "  Printer  of  York,"  when  de 
scribing  his  intercourse  with  his  dear  niece,  Anne 

*  In  '  Lea  Prcciemes  Ridicules,'1  Marotte,  the  lady's  maid, 
says  :  "  Dame  !  je  n'entends  point  le  latin,  et  je  n'ai  pas  appris, 
comme  vous,  la  filophie  dans  le  grand  Cyre."  Boswell  tells  us, 
on  the  authority  of  Bishop  Percy,  that  when  Dr.  Johnson  spent 
part  of  a  summer  at  his  parsonage  in  the  country,  he  chose  for 
his  regular  reading  the  old  Spanish  romance  of  '  Felixmarte  of 
Ilyrcania,'  in  folio,  which  he  read  quite  through.  This  was  the 
book  which  the  curate  in  '  Don  Quixote '  condemned  to  the 
flames.  These  romances  are  satirized  by  the  youthful  Canning 
in  the  '  Microcosm,'  where  he  describes  the  hero  sighing  respect 
fully  at  the  feet  of  his  mistress  during  a  ten-years'  courtship  in 
a  wilderness ;  and  quotes  the  adventures  of  St.  George,  "  who 
mounts  his  horse  one  morning  at  Cappadocia,  takes  his  way 
through  Mesopotamia,  then  turns  to  the  right  into  Illyria,  and 
so  by  way  of  Grecia  and  Thracia,  arrives  in  the  afternoon  in 
England." 


158  NOVELS  AND  NOVELISTS. 

Standish,  "  a  perfect  beauty,"  says  in  his  autobiogra 
phy  :  "  Often  did  we  walk  till  late  hours  in  the  garden  ; 
she  could  tell  me  almost  every  passage  in  '  Cassandra,' 
a  celebrated  romance  that  I  had  bought  for  her  at 
London."  And  to  come  to  a  later  period,  the  close 
of  the  century,  we  have  a  list  of  the  novels,  which 
Miss  Thorpe  tells  Catherine  Morland,  the  heroine  in 
Jane  Austen's  story  of  ( Korthanger  Abbey,'  she  has 
written  down  in  her  pocket-book ;  '  Castle  of  Wolfe  n- 
bach,'  '  Clermont,'  c  Mysterious  Warnings,'  '  Xecro- 
mancer  of  the  Black  Forest,'  < Midnight  Bell,'  'Or 
phan  of  the  Rhine,'  and  the  '  Horrid  Mysteries.' 
Possibly  these  novels  are  merely  imaginary,  but  if 
they  are  real  books,  where  are  any  of  them  to  be 
found  now?  and  where  could  readers  be  found  for 
them  if  they  existed  ?  Few  have  the  courage  to  wade 
through  the  twenty-one  volumes  of  Richardson — for 
in  no  less  a  number  are  contained  his  '  Pamela,'  i  Cla 
rissa  liarlowe,'  and  '  Sir  Charles  Grandison,'  and  the 
man  wiio  has  performed  the  feat  in  these  degenerate 
days  may  plume  himself  upon  the  achievement. 

For  a  long  list  of  the  novels  in  vogue  in  the  mid 
dle  of  the  last  century  we  may  refer  to  the  preface  to 
George  Colman's  comedy  of  '  Polly  Honeycomb,'  first 
acted  in  1760,  and  intended  to  expose  the  mischiefs 
of  novel-reading,  although  it  really  does  nothing  of 


LAWLESS  GALLANTRY.  159 

the  kind.*  The  names  of  nearly  two  hundred  are 
given,  of  which  very  few,  exclusive  of  the  fictions  of 
Richardson,  Fielding,  and  Smollett,  are  now  known 
even  by  name,  or  could  be  procured  without  a  good 
deal  of  hunting  at  second-hand  book-stalls.  But  the 
same  will  be  true  a  century  hence  of  most  of  the  nov 
els  of  this  generation.  As  Fielding  says  in  'Tom 
Jones,'  "  The  great  happiness  of  being  known  to  pos 
terity  is  the  portion  of  few."  Among  those  wrorks 
that  are  practically  lost  there  are  some  whose  names, 
like  that  of  the  '  Fair  Adulteress,'  sufficiently  indicate 
their  contents.  Some  for  a  long  time  lingered  in 
circulating  libraries,  and,  perhaps,  may  still  be  found 
there,  although  they  are  seldom  or  never  asked  for 
by  readers  whose  taste  has  been  reformed  and  purified 
by  the  writings  of  such  authors  as  Scott,  Thackeray, 
Dickens,  and  Trollope.  Of  very  few  of  these  old  nov 
els  can  be  predicated  what  Dr.  Johnson  said  of  Priors 
poems,  "  Xo,  sir,  Prior  is  a  lady's  book.  Xo  lady  is 
ashamed  to  have  it  standing  in  her  library."  Their 
character  may  be  described  by  two  lines  from  the  pro 
logue  to  c  Polly  Honeycomb ' — 

*  '  Polly  Honeycomb'  ends  thus:  "Zounds!  ....  a  man 
might  as  well  turn  his  daughter  loose  in  Covent  Garden,  as 
trust  the  cultivation  of  her  mind  to  a  circulating  library." 


160  NOVELS  AND  NOVELISTS. 

"  Plot  and  elopement,  passion,  rape,  and  rapture, 
The  total  sum  of  every  dear — dear — chapter." 

or  by  the  following  verses  of  Cowper : 

"  Ye  novelists  who  mar  what  ye  would  mend, 
Snivelling  and  drivelling,  folly  without  end ; 
Where  corresponding  misses  fill  the  ream 
With  sentimental  frippery  and  dream, 
Caught  in  a  delicate  soft  silken  net 
By  some  lewd  earl  or  rake-hell  baronet."  * 

The  subject  of  most  of  them  is,  in  fact,  what 
Charles  Lamb  calls  "  the  undivided  pursuit  of  lawless 
gallantry."  In  his  essay  on  the  artificial  comedy  of 
the  last  century  he  attempts  a  defence  of  this  where 
he  says  :  "  The  Fainealls  and  the  Mirabels,  the  Dori- 
courts  and  Lady  Touchwoods,  in  their  own  sphere,  do 
not  offend  any  moral  sense ;  in  fact,  they  do  not  ap 
peal  to  it  at  all.  They  seem  engaged  in  their  proper 
element.  They  break  through  no  lawrs  or  conscien 
tious  restraints.  They  know  of  none.  They  have 
got  out  of  Christendom  into  the  land — what  shall  I 
call  it  ? — of  cuckoldy — the  Utopia  of  gallantry,  where 
pleasure  is  duty,  and  the  manners  perfect  freedom." 

I  think  this  is  a  bad  and  false  apology  even  for 
the  stage.  But  whatever  may  be  the  case  with  the 

*  '  Progress  of  Error.' 


LESSONS  IN  MOBALITY.  161 

plays,  such  a  defence  is  not  available  for  the  novels. 
The  object  in  writing  them  was  not  merely  to  amuse 
but  to  instruct,  as  the  authors  assure  us  over  and  over 
again  in  their  prefaces  and  dedications,  and  they  cer 
tainly  did  not  intend  their  heroes  and  heroines  to  be 
mere  shadowy  abstractions,  but  representations  of 
real  flesh  and  blood.  And  our  forefathers  so  regarded 
them,  looking  to  them  for^lessons  in  moralitj_and^ 
conduct.  It  is  in  this  light  that  Dr.  Young,  in  one 
of  his  letters,  calls  Richardson.  "  an  instrument  of 
Providence."  A  writer  in  the  £  Olla  Podrida'  (A.  D. 
178Y)  says,  that  "  if  we  wish  for  delicate  or  refined 
sentiments  we  can  recur  to  i  Grandison '  and  '  Cla 
rissa  ; '  if  we  would  see  the  world  more,  perhaps,  as 
it  is  than  it  should  be,  we  have  i  Joseph  Andrews ' 
and  '  Tom  Jones ; '  or  can  we  find  the  happy  mixture 
of  satire  and  moral  tendency  in  the  '  Spiritual  Qui 
xote  '  and  '  Cecilia.' '  And  the  Rev.  Mr.  Graves,  in 
his  preface  or  apology,  as  he  calls  it,  for  his  i  Spiritual 
Quixote,'  says :  "  Nay,  I  am  convinced  that  '  Don 
Quixote'  or  <  Gil  Bias,'  <  Clarissa,'  or  'Sir  Charles 
Grandison,'  will  furnish  more  hints  for  correcting  the 
follies  and  regulating  the  morals  of  young  persons, 
and  impress  them  more  forcibly  on  their  minds, 
than  volumes  of  severe  precepts  seriously  delivered 
and  dogmatically  enforced."  Now,  what  is  the  char- 


162  NOVELS  AND  NOVELISTS. 

acter  of  most  of  these  "books  which  were  to  correct 
follies  and  regulate  morality  ?  Of  a  great  many  of 
them,  and  especially  those  of  Fielding  and  Smollett, 
the  prevailing  features  are  grossness  and  licentious 
ness.  Love  degenerates  into  mere  animal  passion, 
and  almost  every  woman  has  to  guard  her  chastity— 
if,  indeed,  she  cares  to  guard  it  at  all — against  the  ap 
proaches  of  man  as  the  sworn  enemy  of  her  virtue. 
The  language  of  the  characters  abound  in  oaths  and 
gross  expressions,  and  to  swear  loudly  and  -to  drink 
deeply  are  the  common  attributes  of  fashionable  as 
well  as  vulgar  life.  The  heroines  allow  themselves  to 
take  part  in  conversations  which  no  modest  woman 
could  have  heard  without  a  blush. 

And  yet  these  novels  were  the  delight  of  a  by-gone 
generation,  and  were  greedily  devoured  by  women  as 
well  as  men.  Are  we,  therefore,  to  conclude  that  our 
great-great-grandmothers — those  stately  dames,  whose 
pictures  by  Gainsborough  and  Reynolds  look  down 
upon  us  in  our  dining-rooms — were  less  chaste  and 
moral  than  their  female  posterity  ?  I  answer,  cer 
tainly  not ;  but  we  must  infer  that  they  were  inferior 
to  them  in  delicacy  and  refinement.  They  were  ac 
customed  to  hear  a  spade  called  a  spade,  and  words 
which  would  shock  the  more  fastidious  ear  in  the 
reign  of  Queen  Victoria  w^ere  then  in  common  and 


A  LADY'S  VIEW  OF  '  TRISTRAM  SHANDY.'      163 

daily  use.  TVre  see  this  in  the  diaries  and  journals  of 
the  time,  but  it  would  not  be  pleasant  to  quote  pas 
sages  in  proof  of  the  statement ;  and,  perhaps,  the 
women  of  that  day  would  defend  themselves  in  some 
such  way  as  Charlotte  Grandison  does  in  Richardson's 
novel :  "  Let  me  tell  you  that  there  is  more  indelicacy 
in  delicacy  than  you  very  delicate  people  are  aware 
of." 

There  is  in  '  Richardson's  Correspondence  '  a  long 
extract  from  a  letter  written  by  a  young  lady  in  Lon 
don  to  another  lady,  her  friend,  in  the  country,  in 
which  she  laments  the  hard  necessity  she  supposed 
she  was  under  of  having  been  obliged  to  read  '  Tris 
tram  Shandy.'  "  Happy  are  you  in  your  retirement, 
where  you  read  what  books  you  choose,  either  for 
instruction  or  entertainment ;  but  in  this  foolish  town 
we  are  obliged  to  read  every  foolish  book  that  fashion 
renders  prevalent  in  conversation  ;  and  I  am  horribly 
out  of  humor  with  the  present  taste,  which  makes 
people  ashamed  to  own  they  have  not  read  what,  if 
fashion  did  not  authorize,  they  would  with  more  rea 
son  blush  to  say  they  had  read.  Perhaps  some  polite 
person  from  London  may  have  forced  this  piece  into 
your  hands  ;  but  give  it  not  a  place  in  your  library ; 
let  not  '  Tristram  Shandy'  be  ranked  among  the  well- 
chosen  authors  there.  It  is  indeed  a  little  book,  and 


161  NOVELS  AND  NOVELISTS. 

little  is  its  merit,  though  great  lias  been  the  writer's 
reward.  Unaccountable  wildness,  whimsical  digres 
sions,  comical  incoherences,  uncommon  indecencies, 
all  with  an  air  of  novelty  has  catched  the  reader's 
attention,  and  applause  has  flown  from  one  to  another, 
till  it  is  almost  singular  to  disapprove.  .  .  .  Yet  I 
will  do  him  justice ;  and  if,  forced  by  friends,  or  led 
by  curiosity,  you  have  read  and  laughed  and  almost 
cried  at  Tristram,  I  will  agree  with  you  that  there  is 
subject  for  mirth  and  some  affecting  strokes.  .  .  But 
mark  my  prophecy,  that  by  another  season  this  per 
formance  will  be  as  much  decried  as  it  is  now  ex 
tolled  ;  for  it  has  not  sufficient  merit  to  prevent  its 
sinking  when  no  longer  upheld  by  the  short-lived 
breath  of  fashion  :  and  yet  another  prophecy  I  utter, 
that  this  ridiculous  compound  will  be  the  cause  of 
many  more  productions,  witless  and  humorless,  per 
haps,  but  indecent  and  absurd,  till  the  town  will  be 
punished  for  undue  encouragement  by  being  poisoned 
with  disgustful  nonsense."  * 

In  his  i  Essay  on  Conversation,'   which  contains 

'some    admirable   precepts,    Fielding   strongly   insists 

against  indecency,  and  proscribes  "  all  double-enten- 

dres  and  obscene  jests "  as  carefully  to  be  avoided 

before  ladies.     And  yet  in  that  very  essay  he  offends 

*  '  Correspondence  of  Kichardson,'  vol.  v.  p.  147. 


COARSE  LANGUAGE.  165 

against  decency,  according  to  modern  notions,  by 
using  words  with  which  no  writer  of  reputation  would 
now  sully  his  pen.  This  is  curious,  and  proves  what 
I  contend  for,  namely,  that  in  the  last  century  men 
and  women  were  so  accustomed  to  coarse  language 
that  they  hardly  knew  what  was  a  sin  against  deco 
rum.  Necessarily  I  cannot  give  quotations  to  show 
this,  for  in.  doing  so  I  should  myself  offend ;  but  I 
may  state,  without  fear  of  contradiction,  that  there  is 
hardly  a  novel  of  the  eighteenth  century  which  does 
not  contain  expressions  and  allusions  which  would  at 
the  present  day  be  thought  not  only  vulgar  but  indec 
orous. 

And  this  is  true  not  only  of  the  beginning  and 
middle,  but  the  end  of  the  period,  not  only  of  Defoe, 
Swift,  Richardson,  Fielding,  and  Smollett,  but  of 
Mrs.  Inchbald,  Miss  Burney,  and  Miss  Edgeworth. 
Nobody  can  think  higher  of  the  last-named  authoress 
than  myself,  and  I  attribute  whatever  faults  of  this 
kind  she  has  committed  to  the  manners  of  the  age. 
She  could  never  have  put  into  the  mouth  of  a  fashion 
able  lady  such  language  as  Mrs.  Freke  in  i  Belinda ' 
uses,  unless  she  had  thought  it  at  least  possible  that  a 
fashionable  lady  could  so  talk. 

I  will  give  one  or  two  specimens  of  it,  addressed, 
be  it  observed,  to  a  young  lady  : 


166  NOVELS  AND  NOVELISTS. 

"  The  devil !  they  seem  to  have  put  you  on  a 
course  of  the  bitters — a  course  of  the  woods  might  do 
your  business  better.  Do  you  ever  hunt  ?  Let  me 
take  you  out  with  me  some  morning.  You'd  be  quite 
an  angel  on  horseback,  or  let  me  drive  you  out  some 
day  in  my  unicorn." 

"  I  only  wish,  I  only  wish  his  wife  had  been  by. 
Why  the  devil  did  not  she  make  her  appearance  ?  I 
suppose  the  prude  was  afraid  of  my  demolishing  and 
unrigging  her." 

" i  Drapery,  if  you  ask  my  opinion,'  cried  Mrs. 
Freke,  c  drapery,  whether  wet  or  dry,  is  the  most  con 
foundedly  indecent  thing  in  the  world.' ' 

I  know  that  there  are  writers  who  assert  that  we 
have  not  gained  by  the  difference  ;  but  I  think  they 
are  wholly  wrong.  The  gain  is  immense,  when  we 
remember  all  that  such  want  of  refinement  implies. 
Coarseness  of  language  is  a  proof  of  coarseness  of 
thought,  and  too  often  leads  to  coarseness  of  conduct. 
And  the  same  is  equally  true  of  profanity  and  vice. 
Studia  ablunt  in  mores.  A  profane  talker  is  a  pro 
fane  liver,  and  the  man  who  revels  in  licentious  con 
versation  is  not  likely  to  be  a  Joseph  in  morals. 

Two  of  the  most  popular  novels  mentioned  in  the 
preface  to  •'  Polly  Iloneycombe,'  next  to  those  of 
Richardson,  Fielding,  and  Smollett,  are  '  Chrysal,  or 


'CHKYSAL,  ETC.'  167 

the  Adventures  of  a  Guinea,'  and  '  The  Fool  of  Qual 
ity.' 

I  have  looked  through  the  four  volumes  of  '  Chry- 
sal ' — it  is  impossible  for  human  patience  now  to  pe 
ruse  them — to  see  if  there  was  any  thing  which  could 
interest  a  reader  at  the  present  day ;  but  the  attempt 
was  vain.  The  book  in  both  style  and  matter  is  exe 
crably  bad.  And  yet  it  was  once  very  popular.* 
But  see  the  uncertainty  of  fame  !  I  had  the  greatest 
difficulty  in  procuring  a  copy,  although  I  inquired  of 
many  booksellers,  and  hunted  many  book-stalls.  It 
has  sunk  into  total  oblivion,  and  I  am  bound  to  say 
that  it  deserves  its  fate. 

The  '  Guinea '  passes  from  hand  to  hand,  and  this 
gives  the  author  the  opportunity  of  describing  all 
kinds  of  characters,  and  all  kinds  of  scenes.  I  need 
not  say  that  many  of  them  are  licentious  and  impure ; 
but  the  vice  is  not  redeemed  by  wit  or  grace  of  style, 
and  the  book  is  simply  unreadable.  The  same  idea 
is  produced  in  the  novel  of  i  Pompey,  or  the  Adven- 

*  The  author  of  '  The  Adventures  of  a  Guinea '  was  Charles 
Johnson,  a  barrister,  whose  deafness  prevented  him  from  follow 
ing  his  profession.  The  bookseller  to  whom  it  was  offered  for 
publication,  sent  the  first  volume  to  Dr.  Johnson,  in  manu 
script,  to  have  his  opinion  whether  it  should  be  printed,  and  he 
thought  it  should.  We  can  only  wonder  that  such  a  stupid 
book  met  with  Johnson's  approval. 


168  NOVELS  AND  NOVELISTS. 

tures  of  a  Lap-dog,'  by  Coventry,  where  the  dog  be 
comes  the  property  of  a  variety  of  persons,  of  whom 
it  is  sufficient  to  say  that  all  the  women  are  rakes, 
and  the  men  libertines  and  scamps.  Many  of  the 
scenes  can  only  be  described  by  one  word,  and  that 
is — filthy — and  there  is  nothing  in  Swift  which  is 
more  gross  or  more  offensive.  I  cannot  understand 
how  it  obtained  the  honor  of  being  allowed  a  place  in 
the  edition  of  the  British  Novelists. 

4  The  Fool  of  Quality '  was  written  by  Henry 
Brooke,  and  published  by  him  in  1766.  It  was  re- 
published  by  the  Rev.  Charles  Kingsley,  with  a  pref 
ace  and  life  of  the  author,  in  1859  ;  and  he  speaks 
with  enthusiasm  of  the  causes  which  have  made  the 
book  to  be  forgotten  for  a  while,  and  which,  he  says, 
are  to  be  found  "  in  its  deep  and  grand  ethics,  in  its 
broad  and  genial  humanity,  in  the  divine  value  which 
it  attaches  to  the  relations  of  husband  and  wife,  father 
and  child,  and  to  the  utter  absence  both  of  that  sen- 
timentalism  and  that  superstition  which  have  been 
alternately  debauching  of  late  years  the  minds  of  the 
young."  He  calls  it  a  "  brave  book."  I  am  bound 
to  say  that  I  wholly  disagree  with  him.  A  more 
horribly  dull  and  tedious  book  it  was  never  my  mis 
fortune  to  read  ;  and  as  a  fiction,  or  a  story,  or  a 
tvork  of  art,  it  is  beneath  criticism.  Mr.  Kingsley  ad- 


'THE   FOOL  OF  QUALITY.'  169 

mits  that  "  an  average  reader  "  would  say  that  "  the 
plot  is  extravagant,  as  well  as  ill  woven,  and  broken 
besides  by  episodes  as  extravagant  as  itself.  The 
morality  is  Quixotic  and  practically  impossible.  The 
{sermonizing,  whether  theological  or  social,  is  equally 
clumsy  and  obtrusive.  "Without  artistic  method,  with 
out  knowledge  of  human  nature  and  the  real  world, 
the  book  can  never  have  touched  many  hearts,  and 
can  touch  none  now." 

I  willingly  rank  myself  among  the  average  read 
ers  as  regards  my  estimate  of  the  book,  and  can  only 
wonder  at  Mr.  Kingsley  having  taken  the  trouble  to 
republish  it,  and  still  more  at  the  praise  wThich  he 
lavishes  upon  it.  It  is  made  up  of  dull  sermons  and 
dull  disquisitions  on  morality  and  the  British  Consti 
tution,  with  an  absurd  attempt  at  a  story,  in  which 
it  is  impossible  to  take  interest,  running  through  it. 
Harry  Clinton,  afterward  Earl  of  Moreland,  the  hero, 
is  carried  off  by  a  benevolent  old  gentleman,  wTho 
turns  out  to  be  his  uncle  in  disguise,  and  supplies  him 
while  a  boy  with  almost  unlimited  sums  of  money  to 
scatter  broadcast  in  prisons,  hospitals,  and  the  abodes 
of  poverty.  To  slip  a  hundred  guineas  into  a  poor 
man's  pocket  is  with  him  quite  an  ordinary  occur 
rence  ;  and  his  uncle  kisses  him  and  exclaims,  "  Oh, 
my  noble,  my  generous,  my  incomparable  boy !  "  An- 


170  NOVELS  AND  NOVELISTS. 

other  gentleman  is  so  enraptured  by  the  generous 
manner  in  which  the  hero  spends  his  uncle's  money 
that  he  exclaims  in  ecstasy :  "  Let  me  go,  let  me  go 
from  this  place.  This  boy  will  absolutely  kill  me  if  I 
stay  any  longer.  He  overpowers,  he  suffocates  me  with 
the  weight  of  his  sentiments."  The  author  certainly 
overpowers  the  reader  with  the  weight  of  his  dulness. 
The  dress  of  a  lady  is  thus  described  :  "  A  scarf  of 
cerulean  tint  flew  between  her  right  shoulder  and  her 
left  hip,  being  buttoned  at  each  end  by  a  row  of  rubies 
....  A  coronet  of  diamonds,  through  which  there 
passed  a  wrhite  branch  of  the  feathers  of  the  ostrich, 
was  inserted  on  the  left  decline  of  her  lovely  head, 
and  a  stomacher  of  inestimable  brilliance  rose  beneath 
her  dazzling  bosom,  and  by  a  fluctuating  blaze  of  un- 
remitted  light,  checked  and  turned  the  eye  away  from 
too  presumptuous  a  gaze  "  !  "When  the  hero  goes  to 
Court,  Queen  Mary  sends  the  Lord  Chamberlain  to  tell 
him  to  come  to  her,  and  after  a  few  words  of  conver 
sation  cries  out :  "  You  are  the  loveliest  and  sweetest 
fellow  I  ever  knew.  My  eye  followed  you  all  along, 
and  marked  you  for  my  own,  and  I  must  either  beg 
or  steal  you  from  our  good  friend  your  father."  Her 
Majesty  then  gives  him  her  picture !  There  is  a  cari 
cature  of  a  trial  at  the  Old  Bailey,  where  a  woman  is 
tried  for  killing  a  nobleman  in  defence  of  her  chastity, 


DIFFERENT  CLASSES  OF  NOVELS.  171 

and  where  the  judge  is  represented  as  summing  up 
for  a  conviction  in  a  way  which  would  have  shocked 
a  Jeffreys  or  a  Scroggs.  The  foreman  of  the  jury 
prefaces  their  verdict  of  Not  Guilty,  with  a  sentimen- 
tal  speech,  calling  the  prisoner  "  an  honor  to  human 
nature  and  the  first  grace  and  ornament  of  her  own 
sex."  But  Ohe  jam  satis.  Considering  the  nature 
of  the  book,  it  is  not  surprising  that  John  "Wesley 
"  bowdlerized "  the  *  Fool  of  Quality,'  striking  out 
such  passages  as  he  did  not  like,  and  then  published  it 
during  the  author's  lifetime  as  the  c  History  of  Harry, 
Earl  of  Moreland,'  which  was  long  believed  by  the 
Wesleyans  to  be  the  wrork  of  the  great  John  himself. 

The  novels  of  the  last  century  may  be  divided  into 
different  classes.  In  the  first  we  have  the  domestic 
life  of  our  ancestors  portrayed  under  the  guise  of  fic 
tion,  of  which  the  staple  generally  is  the  story  of  a 
young  lady  who  has  great  difficulty  in  preserving  her 
honor  intact  from  the  pursuit  of  libertine  admirers. 
Thus  in  c  Clarissa  Harlowe  '  the  heroine  falls  a  victim 
to  her  seducer,  while  in  '  Pamela '  she  triumphs  over 
his  arts,  and  the  result  is  a  happy  marriage.  In  c  Sir 
Charles  Grandison,'  the  lady  is  forcibly  carried  off  by 
Sir  Hargrave  Pollexfen,  whose  object  is  to  compel  her 
to  marry  him,  but  she  is  rescued  by  Sir  Charles,  and 
after  an  intolerably  tedious  courtship  becomes  his 


1Y2  NOVELS  AND  NOVELISTS. 

wife.  It  is  the  same  idea  in  a  more  disguised  form 
which  forms  the  subject  of  the  story  in  Miss  Burney's 
'  Evelina,'  or  the  £  History  of  a  young  Lady's  Intro 
duction  to  the  World.'  There  Miss  Anville  comes  up 
to  town  from  the  country  on  a  visit  to  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Mirvan,  in  Queen  Anne  Street,  and  she  is  immediate 
ly  beset  by  admirers,  one  of  whom,  Lord  Orville,  is  a 
gentleman  not  only  by  birth,  but  in  character  and  con 
duct  ;  while  another,  Sir  Clement  "Willoughby,  pur 
sues  her  with  no  other  object  than  that  of  "  lawless 
gallantry."  She  has  a  narrow  escape  when  she  trusts 
herself  with  him  in  his  carriage  to  take  her  home  from 
the  theatre.  She  is  insulted  at  Ranelagh,  and  "  Mary- 
bone,"  and  the  Hotwells,  by  libertine  addresses. 

In  Mrs.  Inchbald's  6  Simple  Story '  we  have  the 
tale  of  a  young  lady,  Miss  Milner,  left  to  the  care  of 
a  lloman  Catholic  priest,  Dorriforth,  with  whom  she 
falls  in  love ;  and,  as  he  becomes  the  Earl  of  Elm- 
wood,  and  is  released  from  his  ordination  vows,  she 
marries  him;  but  afterward  becomes  unfaithful,  and 
dies  in  great  misery.  The  latter  part  of  the  novel  is 
occupied  with  the  story  of  her  daughter,  an  only 
child,  whom  the  father  allows  to  live  at  one  of  his 
country  residences ;  but,  in  bitter  resentment  at  her 
mother's  misconduct,  obstinately  refuses  to  see  or  allow 
her  name  to  be  mentioned  in  his  presence,  until  he 


COMIC   NOVELS.  173 

hears  that  she  lias  been  carried  off  by  a  libertine 
nobleman,  when  he  rushes  to  her  rescue,  and  then 
opens  his  heart  to  her  with  parental  fondness,  and 
sanctions  her  marriage  with  his  nephew,  who  has  long 
been  her  secret  adorer. 

A  favorite  form  in  which  many  of  these  novels  are 
written  is  a  series  of  letters,  which  seems  to  me  the 
most  uninteresting  mode  in  which  a  story  can  be  told. 
It  is  difficult  not  to  compassionate  the  persons  who  sit 
down  day  after  day,  and  night  after  night,  to  pen 
their  long-winded  epistles,  and  fill  them  with  the  most 
trivial  and  egotistical  details.  Perhaps  in  these  days 
of  the  penny-post  one  is  more  impatient  of  the  length 
of  a  letter ;  but  no  mortal  men  nor  women  could  have 
spun  out  in  real  life  such  a  correspondence  as  is  car 
ried  on  in  '  Clarissa  Harlowe,'  '  Sir  Charles  Grandi- 
son,'  and  '  Evelina.'  * 

Another  class  of  novels  consists  of  comic  stories 
of  low  life,  in  which  the  hero  or  heroine  is  engaged  in 
ludicrous  adventures,  where  the  scenes  are  often  laid 
in  a  country  inn,  and  the  interior  of  a  prison,  and 
where  such  events  as  are  likely  to  happen  there  are 

*  These  letters  were  supposed  to  be  sent  by  private  hands, 
not  the  post.  "Letters  from  Northamptonshire,  by  Fanner 
Jenkins ;  I  kiss  the  seals."  *  Sir  Charles  Grandison : '  Letter 
XIV. 


174  NOVELS  AND  NOVELISTS. 

described  with  all  the  fidelity,  and,  I  will  add,  all  the 
coarseness  of  a  Dutch  picture.  Such  are  i  Roderick 
Random,'  and  *  Peregrine  Pickle,'  i  Tom  Jones,'  and 
;  Joseph  Andrews.'  The  men  riot  in  every  kind  of 
dissipation,  and  the  women  indulge  in  every  species 
of  intrigue.  But  there  is  always  some  virtuous  figure 
who  is  generally  the  heroine — like  Sophia  Western,  or 
Fanny  Goodwin,  or  Emilia — who  resists  all  libertine 
advances,  and  whose  constancy  is  at  last  rewarded  by 
marriage.  It  is  with  reference  to  this  class  of  novels 
that  an  accomplished  French  critic,  M.  Taine,  speak 
ing  of  'Torn  Jones,'  says:'"  "  One  becomes  tired  of 
your  fisticuffs  and  your  ale-house  adventures.  You 
dirty  your  feet  too  much  in  the  stables  among  the  ec 
clesiastical  pigs  of  Trulliber.  One  would  like  to  see 
more  regard  for  the  modesty  of  your  heroines ;  the 
roadside  accidents  disturb  their  dresses  too  often,  and 
it  is  in  vain  that  Fanny,  Sophy,  and  Mistress  Heart- 
free  preserve  their  purity ;  one  can't  help  remember 
ing  the  assaults  which  have  lifted  their  petticoats. 
You  are  so  rude  yourself  that  you  are  insensible  to 
what  is  atrocious.  .  .  .  Man,  such  as  you  conceive 
him,  is  a  good  buffalo,  and  perhaps  he  is  the  kind  of 
hero  required  by  a  people  which  is  itself  called  John 
Bull."  It  is  curious  to  contrast  with  this  the  opinion 

*  'Histoire  de  la  Literature  Anglaise,'  vol.  iii.  pp.  317,318. 


LOW   SCENES.  175 

of  Coleridge.  "  How  charming,  liow  wholesome. 
Fielding  always  is !  To  take  liim  up  after  Richard 
son,  is  like  emerging  from  a  sick-room  heated  by 
stoves,  into  an  open  lawn  on  a  breezy  clay  in  May."  * 
In  so  far  as  Fielding  is  opposed  to  Richardson,  we 
should  all  agree  in  this ;  but  I  cannot  think  that  the 
pure  breeze  of  a  May  morning  is  a  proper  metaphor 
to  describe  such  scenes  as  occur  in  '  Tom  Jones  '  and 
i  Joseph  Andrews.' 

*  '  Table  Talk,'  p.  332. 


CHAPTER  YI. 

MRS.  BEHN  AND.  HEE  NOVELS.— '  OEOONOKO.1  — '  THE  "WANDERING 
BEAUTY:— 'THE  UNFORTUNATE  HAPPY  LADY:— MRS.  MANLEY 
AND  'THE  NEW  ATALANTIS.1— '  THE  POWER  OF  LOVE  IN  SEVEN 
NOVELS:— 'THE  FAIR  HYPOCRITE:— MRS.  HEY  WOOD.— HER  NOV 
EL.— 'Miss  BETSY  THOUGHTLESS: 

IT  is  remarkable  that  some  of  the  most  immoral 
novels  in  the  English  language  should  have  been 
written  by  women.  This  bad  distinction  belongs  to 
Mrs.  Behn,  Mrs.  Manley,  and  Mrs.  Ileywood ; — Cor- 
ruptio  optimi  est  pessima,  and  that  such  corrupt 
stories  as  they  gave  to  the  world  were  the  offspring 
of  female  pens  is  an  unmistakable  proof  of  the  loose 
manners  of  the  age.  Mrs.  Behn,  indeed,  belongs  to 
an  earlier  period.  She  wrote  in  the  reign  of  Charles 
II.,  when  vice  was  triumphant,  and  modesty,  like 
'Astrsea,'  had  left  her  last  footsteps  upon  earth.* 
Strictly,  therefore,  she  does  not  come  within  the  scope 

*  Mrs.  Behn  called  herself  '  Astrsea,'  and  as  such  ia  alluded 
to  by  Pope  in  the  lines — 

"  The  stage  how  loosely  does  Astraea  tread, 
Who  fairly  puts  all  characters  to  bed  !  " 


MRS.   BEEN".  177 

of  the  present  work ;  but  as  some  of  her  stories  were 
the  first  that  at  all  approached  in  idea  the  modern 
novel,  and  in  that  respect  she  may  be  considered  as 
the  literary  progenitor  of  a  most  numerous  race,  I 
may  be  excused  for  saying  something  about  her,  and 
so  far  as  I  dare,  giving  some  specimens  of  her  works. 
Her  maiden  name  was  Aphra  Johnson  ;  her  father 
was  made  Governor  of  Surinam,  whither  she  accom 
panied  him,  and  then  she  became  acquainted  with  the 
ne^ro  slave  Oroonoko  and  his  wife  Imoinda.  whose 

o 

adventures  she  has  made  the  subject  of  the  best  known 
one  of  the  least  objectionable  of  her  novels,  called 
'  Oroonoko.'  She  afterward  married  a  Dutch  mer 
chant  named  Behn,  and  went  to  Antwerp,  wThere  she 
was  employed  by  Charles  II.  in  some  political  in 
trigues  during  the  war  with  Holland.  After  various 
vicissitudes  of  fortune  she  settled  in  England  and  de 
voted  herself  to  literature,  chiefly  novels  and  come 
dies,  the  titles  of  some  of  which  sufficiently  indicate 
their  centers.  In  her  preface  to  '  The  Lucky  Chance ' 
she  attempts  to  defend .  herself  against  the  charge  of 
indecency  and  indelicacy;  but  it  is  by  what  lawyers 
call  a  plea  in  confession  and  avoidance — retorting  the 
charge  of  prudery  on  her  accusers.  She  died  in  1689, 
and  was  buried  in  Westminster  Abbey.  In  a  curious 
memoir  of  her  prefixed  to  a  volume  of  her  novels 


178  NOVELS  AND  NOVELISTS. 

which  was  published  in  1705,  and  written  "  by  one  of 
the  Fair  Sex,"  she  is  described  as  an  honor  and  glory 
to  women,  and  possessed  of  uncommon  charms  of 
person.  The  lady  takes  pains  to  deny  the  truth  of  an 
ill-natured  rumor  which  it  seems  wras  current  as  to 
some  love-affair  between  Mrs.  Behn,  or  Astrsea,  as  she 
is  called,  and  Oroonoko,  whose  heart  she  said  was  too 
devoted  to  Imoinda  to  be  shaken  in  its  constancy  by 
the  charms  of  a  white  beauty,  "  and  Astrsea's  relations 
who  were  there  present  had  too  watchful  an  eye  over 
her  to  permit  the  frailty  of  her  youth,  if  that  had 
been  powerful  enough."  While  she  was  at  Antwerp 
more  than  one  lover  paid  his  addresses  to  her,  but  she 
merely  used  them  as  tools  to  worm  out  political 
secrets,  and,  in  the  words  of  the  lady  who  wrote  her 
life,  "  she  contrived  to  preserve  her  honor  without  in 
juring  her  gratitude."  She  adds  :  "  They  are  mistaken 
who  imagine  that  a  Dutchman  can't  love;  for,  though 
they  are  generally  more  phlegmatic  than  other  men, 
yet  it  sometimes  happens  that  love  does  penetrate 
their  lumps  and  dispense  an  enlivening  fire,  that  de 
stroys  its  graver  and  cooler  considerations."  One  of 
her  lovers  met  with  a  rather  unlucky  adventure  in 
pursuit  of  his  object.  He  bribed  an  old  lady  who 
slept  with  Mrs.  Behn,  to  put  him,  dressed  in  her 
night-clothes,  in  their  bed,  while  Mrs.  Behn  was  ab- 


MRS.   BEHN.  1Y9 

sent  at  an  evening  party,  in  Antwerp  ;  when  she  came 
home,  attended  by  some  friends,  one  of  them,  "  a  brisk, 
lively,  frolicsome  young  fellow,"  proposed  as  a  practical 
joke  to  go  to  the  old  lady's  bed,  "  while  they  should 
all  come  in  with  candles  and  complete  the  merry 
scene."  This  he  did,  but  was  not  a  little  confounded 
when  he  encountered,  not  an  old  woman,  as  he  ex 
pected,  but  Mrs.  Behn's  Dutch  lover,  who  was  occu 
pying  the  bed.  The  rest  of  the  company  came  in, 
and  it  is  needless  to  say  that  her  admirer,  thus  caught 
in  his  own  trap,  was  ignominiously  dismissed.  Her 
female  biographer  praises  her  for  her  virtue  and  self- 
command,  but  she  prints  some  "  Love  Letters  to  a 
Gentleman  by  Mrs.  A.  Belm  "  which  she  declares  are 
genuine,  and  if  so  they  leave  little  doubt  that  her  con 
duct  was  as  loose  as  her  writings,  notwithstanding  the 
assertion,  "  I  knew  her  intimately  and  never  saw 
aught  unbecoming  the  just  modesty  of  our  sex,  though 
more  gay  and  free  than  the  folly  of  the  precise  will 
allow.  She  was,  I  am  satisfied,  a  greater  honor  to  our 
sex  than  all  the  canting  tribes  of  dissemblers  that  die 
with  the  false  reputation  of  saints." 

She  was  a  learned  lady,  and  among  other  things 
wrote  a  treatise  on  the  c  History  of  Oracles,'  which  is 
in  part  a  translation  of  the  Latin  work  of  Van  Dale, 
'  De  Oraculis  Ethnicorum,'  on  the  same  subject. 


180  NOVELS  AND  NOVELISTS. 

Mrs.  Belm  tells  us  in  her  preface,  that  she  had  taken 
great  liberties  with  Yan  Dale,  and  had  changed  the 
whole  disposition  of  the  book,  retrenching  and  adding 
as  she  thought  fit,  and  sometimes  arguing  in  direct 

o  /  o         o 

opposition  to  him.  "  In  fine,"  she  says,  "  I  have  new 
cast  and  modelled  the  whole  work,  and  have  put  it 
into  the  same  order  as  I  should  have  done  at  first  to 
have  pleased  my  particular  view,  had  I  had  so  much 
knowledge  as  Mr.  Van  Dale,  but  since  I  am  far  from 
it,  I  have  borrowed  his  learning,  and  ventured  to  make 
use  of  my  own  wit  and  fancy  (such  as  it  is)  to  adorn 
it."  The  object  of  Yan  Dale's  work  was  to  refute 
the  opinion  that  the  ancient  oracles  were  delivered  by 
Demons,  and  that  they  ceased  wholly  at  the  coming 
of  Jesus  Christ.  Mrs.  Belm  also  translated  Fon- 
tenelle's  work  on  the  ;  Plurality  of  Worlds,'  but  her 
version  was  first  published  after  her  death.  In  the 
dedication  to  the  Earl  of  Kingston,  by  Briscoe,  who 
seems  to  have  brought  it  out,  he  calls  her  "  the  Sap 
pho  of  our  nation,  the  incomparable  Mrs.  Belm,"  and 
describes  himself  as  one  who  has  been  "  only  a  neces 
sary  appendix  to  the  traders  in  Parnassus."  Al 
though  utterly  forgotten  now,  Mrs.  Belm's  name  once 
occupied  a  prominent  place  in  the  -world  of  letters. 
In  '  Tom  Jones  '  occurs  the  following  passage  :  "  This 
young  fellow  lay  in  bed,  reading  one  of  Mrs.  Belm's 


'  OKOONOZO.'  181 

novels,  fur  lie  had  been  instructed  by  a  friend  that  he 
could  not  find  a  more  effectual  method  of  recommend 
ing  himself  to  the  ladies,  than  by  improving  his  un 
derstanding,  and  filling  his  mind  with  good  literature." 
This  of  course  is  Fielding's  sarcasm. 

I  have  said  that  '  Oroonoko '  is  tlis  best  known  of 
Mrs.  Belm's  novels,  but  I  doubt  whether  more  than  a 
very  few  of  the  present  generation,  have  read  or  even 
seen  it,  and  I  had  some  difficulty  in  procuring  a  copy. 
The  story  is  founded  on  fact,  and  became  known  to 
the  authoress  while  she  was  residing  at  Surinam,  of 
which  her  father  was  Governor.  The  real  history  of 
Oroonoko  and  Imoinda  seems  to  be  this :  He  wras  a 
young  negro  chief,  whose  grandfather  was  ruler  of  a 
country  in  Africa,  not  far  from  the  coast.  He  had 
just  married  a  n egress  named  Imoinda,  when  the  old 
king,  having  seen  her,  and  being  struck  with  her 
beauty,  ordered  that  she  should  be  brought  to  him  to 
live  as  his  concubine.  Notwithstanding  her  opposi 
tion  and  despair,  the  royal  will  was  law,  and  she  took 
up  her  residence  with  the  king.  Oroonoko,  however, 
contrived  to  get  access  to  her  apartment,  and  being 
discovered,  she  was  sold  as  a  slave,  while  he  managed 
to  make  his  escape.  He  got  down  to  the  coast,  and 
was  there  basely  inveigled  on  board  a  slave-ship,  and 
carried  off  to  Surinam.  Here  he  was  sold  as  a  slave, 


182  NOVELS  AND  NOVELISTS. 

and  became  the  property  of  a  kind-hearted  master 
named  Trefry.  It  happened  that  Imoinda  was  work 
ing  as  a  slave  on  the  same  plantation,  and  the  unfor 
tunate  husband  and  wife  thus  unexpectedly  met. 
They  told  their  story  to  their  master,  who  showed 
sympathy  with  their  sorrows,  and  they  were  allowed 
to  live  together  as  man  and  wife,  in  a  cottage  on  the 
estate,  where,  Mrs.  Behn  says,  she  frequently  visited 
them.  Oroonoko  was  known  by  the  name  of  Cresar, 
and  Imoinda  by  that  of  Clemene.  He  tried  in  vain 
to  purchase  his  liberty,  and  at  last  excited  his  fellow- 
slaves  to  a  revolt,  which  was  quickly  suppressed.  He 
and  Imoinda  had  escaped  into  the  woods,  but  they 
were  taken,  and  he  was  barbarously  flogged.  Enraged 
at  this,  he  brooded  over  a  scheme  of  signal  vengeance 
on  the  whites,  but  fearing  that  his  wife  would  become 
a  prey  to  their  lawless  caprice,  and  that  the  child  she 
then  bore  in  her  bosom  was  doomed  to  slavery,  he  de 
termined  to  kill  her.  Taking  her  into  the  woods,  he 
cut  her  throat,  and  remained  for  some  days  beside  her 
dead  body,  until  he  was  found  by  those  who  went  in 
search  of  the  runaways.  He  was  brought  back,  tied 
to  a  post,  and  literally  cut  to  pieces.  I  may  give  the 
death-scene  in  Mrs.  Behn's  own  words :  "  He  had 
learned  to  take  tobacco ;  and  when  he  was  assured  he 
should  die,  he  desired  they  would  give  him  a  pipe  in 


'  OROONOKO.'  183 

his' mouth,  ready  lighted,  which  they  did:  and  the 

tJ  iD  v 

executioner  came  ....  and  threw  them  into  the 
fire ;  after  that,  with  an  ill-favored  knife,  they  cut  off 
his  ears  and  nose,  and  burned  them ;  he  still  smoked 
on  as  if  nothing  had  touched  him ;  then  they  hacked 
off  one  of  his  arms,  and  still  he  bore  up,  and  held  his 
pipe ;  but  at  the  cutting  off  the  other  arm,  his  head 
sank,  and  his  pipe  dropped,  and  he  gave  up  the  ghost 
without  a  groan  or  a  reproach. — My  mother  and  sis 
ter,"  she  adds,  "  were  by  him  all  the  while,  but  not 
suffered  to  save  him." 

Such,  I  believe,  to  be  the  true  facts  of  this  tragic 
tale,  which  Mrs.  Behn  took  as  the  basis  of  her  story, 
and  which  she  has  of  course  amplified  and  altered  as 
suited  her  purpose.  She  has  made  Oroonoko  a  most 
accomplished  prince,  well  acquainted  with  English, 
French,  and  mathematics,  and  says :  "  I  have  often 
seen  and  conversed  with  this  great  man,  and  have 
been  a  witness  to  many  of  his  mighty  actions,  and  do 
assure  my  reader  that  the  most  illustrious  courts  could 
not  have  produced  a  braver  man,  both  for  greatness 
of  courage  and  mind,  a  judgment  more  solid,  a  wit 
more  quick,  and  a  conversation  more  sweet  and  di 
verting.  He  knew  almost  as  much  as  if  he  had  read 
much  ;  he  had  heard  of  the  late  civil  wars  in  Eng 
land,  and  the  deplorable  death  of  our  great  monarch  : 


184:  NOVELS  AND  NOVELISTS. 

and  would  discourse  of  it  with  all  the  sense  and 
abhorrence  of  the  injustice  imaginable.  He  had  an 
extreme  good  and  graceful  mien,  and  all  the  civility 
of  a  well-bred  great  man.  He  had  nothing  of  barbar 
ity  in  his  nature,  but  in  all  points  addressed  himself 
as  if  his  education  had  been  in  some  European  court." 
This  shows  the  key  in  which  the  tone  of  the  novel  is 
pitched,  and  the  person  of  the  sable  hero  is  described 
in  corresponding  style :  "  He  was  pretty  tall,  but  of 
a  shape  the  most  exact  that  can  be  fancied.  The 
most  famous  statuary  could  not  form  the  figure  of  a 
man  more  admirably  turned  from  head  to  foot.  His 
face  was  not  of  that  brown  rusty  black  which  most 
of  that  nation  are,  but  a  perfect  ebony  or  polished 
jet.  His  eyes  were  the  most  awful  that  could  be 
seen,  and  very  piercing,  the  white  of  them  being  like 
snow,  as  were  his  teeth.  His  nose  was  rising  and 
Roman,  instead  of  African  and  flat.  His  mouth  the 
finest  shaped  that  could  be  seen,  far  from  those  great 
turned  lips  which  are  so  natural  to  the  rest  of  the  ne 
groes.  .  .  .  His  hair  came  down  to  his  shoulders  by 
the  aids  of  art,  which  was  by  pulling  it  out  witli  a 
quill,  and  keeping  it  combed,  of  which  he  took  par 
ticular  care."  As  to  Imoinda,  "  one  need  say  only 
that  she  was  female  to  the  noble  male  ;  the  beautiful 
black  Yenus  to  our  young  Mars,  as  charming  in  her 


'  OROONOKO.'  185 

person  as  he,  and  of  delicate  virtues.  I  have  seen  an 
hundred  white  men  sighing  after  her,  and  making  a 
thousand  vows  at  her  feet,  all  vain  and  unsuccessful." 
After  thus  turning  a  woolly-headed  negro  into  an 
Adonis,  with  a  Roman  nose  and  flowing  hair,  it  is 
not  surprising  that  Mrs.  Behn  should  metamorphose 
the  hut  of  an  African  chief  into  a  palace  where  the 
king  is  surrounded  by  Oriental  luxury,  and  where  the 
usages  are  borrowed  from  such  tales  as  the  'Arabian 

o 

.Nights.'  When  Oroonoko  was  about  to  be  treacher 
ously  carried  off  by  the  slaver,  "  the  captain,  in  his 
boat  richly  adorned  with  carpets  and  velvet  cushions, 
went  to  the  shore  to  receive  the  prince,  with  another 
long-boat  where  was  placed  all  his  music  and  trump 
ets."  When  he  got  on  board,  his  Highness  drank 
too  much  wine  and  punch,  and  so  fell  an  easy  prey  to 
the  cupidity  of  the  captain,  who  seized  on  him  and 
put  him  in  irons,  and  then  "made  from  the  shore 
with  this  innocent  and  glorious  prize,  who  thought 
of  nothing  less  than  such  an  entertainment."  I  will 
only  add  that  the  novel  contains  a  rather  interesting 
account  of  the  country  around  Surinam,  and  the  mode 
of  life  there.  On  one  occasion  when  Mrs.  Behn,  with 
some  women,  Caesar,  and  "an  English  gentleman, 
brother  to  Harry  Marten,  the  great  Oliverian" — that 
is  Marten,  the  regicide,  on  whom  Southey  wrote  the 


186  NOVELS  AND  NOVELISTS. 

sonnet  parodied  by  Canning  in  the  '  Antijacobin  '- 
were  out  "  surprising,  and  in  search  of  young  tigers 
in  their  dens,"  they  were  themselves  surprised  by  the 
appearance  of  an  enormous  tigress,  and  would  have 
been  torn  to  pieces  if  the  monster  had  not  been  killed 
by  the  valiant  Caesar — that  is,  Oroonoko. 

Two  others  at  least  of  Mrs.  Behn's  stories — they 
are  almost  too  short  to  be  called  novels — may  be  still 
read  without  offence,  and  if  better  handled  might  be 
made  interesting  even  now.  One  is  c  The  Wander 
ing  Beauty,'  and  the  other  *  The  Unfortunate  Happy 
Lady,'  and  it  may  be  worth  while  to  sketch  the  plots, 
and  give  a  few  specimens  of  the  style. 

In  the  first,  Arabella  Fairname,  the  youthful 
daughter  of  a  gentleman  of  large  fortune  in  the  west 
of  England,  in  order  to  avoid  being  forced  by  her 
parents  into  a  marriage  with  a  neighboring  squire  old 
enough  to  be  her  father,  runs  away  from  home,  and 
disguising  her  skin  with  walnut-juice,  changes  clothes 
with  a  laborer's  daughter,  and  wanders  on  foot  as  far 
as  Lancashire.  There  she  reaches  the  house  of  Sir 
Christian  Kindly,  and  offering  herself  as  a  servant 
under  the  name  of  Peregrina  Goodhouse,  becomes 
the  attendant  of  his  daughter,  who  is  almost  the  same 
age  as  herself. 

"  In  this  state  of  easy  servitude  she  lived  there  for 


'THE  WANDERING  BEAUTY.'  187 

near  three  years,  very  well  contented  at  all  times  but 
when  site  bethought  herself  of  her  father,  mother, 
and  sisters;  courted  by  all  the  principal  men-servants, 
whom  she  refused  in  so  obliging  a  manner,  and  with 
such  sweet,  obliging  wrords,  that  they  could  not  think 
themselves  injured,  though  they  found  their  addresses 
were  in  vain.  Mr.  Prayfast,  the  chaplain,  could  not 
hold  out  against  her  charms  ;  for  her  skin  had  long 
since  recovered  its  native  whiteness ;  nor  did  she 
need  ornaments  of  clothes  to  set  her  beauty  off,  if 
any  thing  could  adorn  her,  since  she  was  dressed 
altogether  as  costly,  though  not  so  richly  (perhaps)  as 
Eleanora.  Prayfast,  therefore,  found  that  the  spirit 
was  too  weak  for  the  flesh,  and  gave  her  very  broad 
signs  of  his  kindness  in  sonnets,  anagrams,  and  acros 
tics,  which  she  received  very  obligingly  of  him,  tak 
ing  a  more  convenient  time  to  laugh  at  'em  with  her 
young  lady." 

The  Rev.  Mr.  Prayfast.  however,  was  informed 
that  Peregrina's  father  was  a  "  husbandman,"  or  some 
thing  inferior  to  that,  and  had,  when  she  first  appeared 
at  Sir  Christian  Kindly's  house,  begged  u  one  night's 
entertainment  in  the  barn."  "  i  Alas  !  sir,  then  "  (re 
turned  the  proud,  canonical  sort  of  a  farmer,  sic)  "  she 
is  no  wife  for  me  ;  I  shall  dishonor  my  family  by 
marrying  so  basely.'"  The  chaplain,  therefore  de- 


188  NOVELS  AND  NOVELISTS, 

dined  to  pursue  his  addresses,  and  a  young  knight, 
Sir  Lucius  Lovewell,  coming  to  the  mansion  to  pay 
court  to  Eleanora,  Sir  Christian's  daughter,  fell  in 
love  with  Peregrina  instead,  and  soon  afterward  mar 
ried  her.  She  did  not  reveal  to  her  husband  the 
secret  of  her  birth ;  but  as  she  longed  to  see  her 
parents  again,  whom  he  believed  to  be  poor  laborers, 
they  both  set  out  for  the  west  of  England,  "  and  in 
five  or  six  days  more,  by  the  help  of  a  coach  and  six, 
they  got  to  Cornwall,"  and  put  up  at  a  little  inn  near 
the  residence  of  Sir  Francis  and  Lady  Fairname.  Sir 
Lucius  is  persuaded  by  his  wife  to  go  and  see  the 
house,  where  he  is  courteously  received  by  Sir  Francis, 
and  invited  to  dinner.  lie  is  much  struck  by  a  pic 
ture  in  the  room,  which  is  the  likeness  of  his  own 
wife,  and  also  by  the  appearance  of  her  two  sisters, 
who  greatly  resembled  her.  He  mentions  the  circum 
stance  to  his  host,  who  begs  him  to  fetch  his  wife, 
that  they  may  see  one  wrho  bears  a  likeness  to  their 
lost  Arabella.  He  returns  to  the  inn  and  brings  her 
back  with  him.  "  The  boot  of  the  coach  (for  that  was 
the  fashion  in  those  days)  was  presently  let  down,  and 
Sir  Lucius  led  his  ladv  forward  to  them,  who,  coining 

«y 

within  three  or  four  paces  of  the  good  old  knight, 
his  lady  fell  on  her  knees  and  begged  their  pardon 
and  blessing.  .  .  .  She  then  gave  her  father,  mother, 


'THE  UNFORTUNATE  HAPPY  LADY.'          189 

and  sisters,  a  relation  of  all  that  liad  happened  to  her 
since  her  absence  from  her  dear  parents,  who  were 
extremely  pleased  with  the  account  of  Sir  Christian 
and  his  lady's  hospitality  and  kindness  to  her  ;  and  in 
less  than  a  fortnight  after,  they  took  a  journey  to  Sir 
Lucius's,  carrying  the  two  other  young  ladies  along 
with  'em ;  and  by  the  way  they  called  at  Sir  Chris 
tian's,  where  they  arrived  in  time  enough  to  be  pres 
ent  the  next  day  at  Sir  Christian's  daughter's  wed 
ding,  which  they  kept  there  for  a  whole  fortnight." 

In  <  The  Unfortunate  Happy  Lady,'  which  Mrs. 
Behn  calls  "  a  true  history,"  we  have  the  story  "  of 
the  uncommon  villany  of  a  gentleman  of  good  family 
in  England,  practised  upon  his  sister,  which  was-  at 
tested  to  me  by  one  who  lived  in  the  family,  and  from 
whom  I  had  the  whole  truth  of  the  story."  "Whether 
or  not  this  is  only  a  device  to  attract  the  interest  of 
the  reader,  I  cannot  say ;  but,  in  either  case,  it  affords 
a  curious  picture  of  what  was  possible  in  those  days, 
which  we  must,  however,  remember  were  the  days  of 
the  seventeenth  century.  The  brother  is  introduced 
under  the  name  of  Sir  William  Wilding,  who  has  a 
sister  called  Philadelphia.  He  gets  heavily  into  debt, 
"  contracted  in  his  profuse  treats,  gaming  and  women," 
and  is  obliged  to  mortgage  part  of  his  estate.  His 
sister  begs  him  to  pay  her  her  portion  ;  and  he  prom- 


190  NOVELS  AND  NOVELISTS. 

ises  to  do  this  if  she  will  accompany  him  to  town, 
where,  he  tells  her,  he  will  place  her  with  an  ancient 
lady  "  of  incomparable  morals  and  of  a  matchless  life 
and  conversation."  "When  they  reach  London,  Sir 
William  goes  to  Lady  Beldam  and  tells  her  that  his 
sister  was  a  cast-off  mistress  of  his,  asking  her  to  give 
her  "  a  wholesome  lesson  or  two  before  night "  for  a 
pecuniary  reward,  and  giving  the  old  harridan  three 
guineas.  Poor  Philadelphia  falls  into  the  trap,  and 
takes  up  her  abode  with  Lady  Beldam.  In  answer  to 
her  Ladyship's  inquiry,  she  assures  her  that  she  is 
Sir  William's  sister,  and  tells  her  that  she  is  assured 
he  intends  to  deprive  her  of  her  portion.  "  I  will 
show  you,"  said  the  other,  "  the  means  of  living  hap 
py  and  great  without  your  portion,  or  your  brother's 
help ;  so  much  I  am  charmed  with  your  beauty  and 
innocence."  The  means  may  be  easily  conjectured. 
In  the  afternoon  three  or  four  young  women  visit 
Lady  Beldam,  and  are  introduced  by  her  to  Philadel 
phia  as  her  nieces.  They  adjourn  after  dinner  into 
the  garden,  where  there  was  "  a  very  fine  dessert  of 
sweetmeats  and  fruits  brought  into  one  of  the 
arbors.  Sherbets,  Ros  Solis,  rich  and  small  wines, 
with  tea,  chocolate,  etc.,  completed  the  old  lady's 
treat,  the  pleasure  of  which  was  much  heightened  by 
the  voices  of  two  of  her  Ladyship's  sham  nieces,  who 


'THE   UNFORTUNATE   HAPPY   LADY.'  191 

sang  very  charmingly."  Kext  day  a  servant  came  to 
say  that  Sir  William  would  come  at  one  o'clock,  and 
desired  that  he  might  dine  in  the  young  lady's  apart 
ment,  adding  that  he  had  invited  a  gentleman,  his 
particular  friend,  to  join  them  at  dinner.  The  gentle 
man  comes — a  Mr.  Gracelove — but  not  Sir  William; 
and  the  poor  girl  is  in  the  most  imminent  peril.  She, 
however,  undeceives  Gracelove  as  to  her  real  position 
and  character,  and  he  behaves  very  well,  offering  to 
rescue  her  and  get  her  out  of  the  house.  Under  pre 
tence  of  taking  her  to  the  play,  he  is  allowed  by  Lady 
Beldam  to  call  a  coach,  and  they  go  at  once  "  to  Coun 
sellor  Fairlaw's  house,  in  Great  Lincoln's  Inn  Fields, 
whom  they  found  accidentally  at  home ;  but  his  lady 
and  daughter  were  just  gone  to  chapel,  being  then 
turned  of  five."  The  old  counsellor  was  a  relation  of 
Gracelove,  and  when  he  heard  her  story,  promised  to 
take  every  care  of  her.  He  introduced  her  to  his 
family,  and  "  the  mother  and  daughter  both  kindly 
and  tenderly  embraced  her,  promising  her  all  the  as 
sistance  within  their  power,  and  bid  her  a  thousand 
welcomes."  Gracelove  afterward  went  with  a  consta 
ble  to  Lady  Beldam's  house  and  demanded  Miss  Wild 
ing's  trunk,  "  which  at  first  her  reverence  denied  to 
return,  till  Mr.  Constable  produced  the  emblem  of  his 
authority,  upon  which  it  was  delivered."  He  then 


192  NOVELS  AND  NOVELISTS. 

found  out  Sir  "William  and  reproached  him  with  his 
villany,  threatening  him  with  the  consequences.  Sir 
William,  upon  this,  "retreated  into  a  place  of  sanctu 
ary  called  the  Savoy,  whither  his  whole  equipage  was 
removed  as  soon  as  possible,"  and  he  assumed  a  false 
name.  Gracelove  then  avowed  his  passion  to  Phila 
delphia;  but  the  marriage  could  not  immediately 
take  place,  as  he  was  obliged  to  go  to  Turkey  on  busi 
ness.  News  afterward  arrived  that  the  ship  in  which 
he  sailed  was  lost,  and  he  was  supposed  to  be  drowned. 
Two  years  passed  away,  at  the  end  of  which  old  Lady 
Fairlaw  died,  "  and  dying  told  her  husband  that  she 
had  observed  he  had  a  particular  esteem  or  kindness 
for  Philadelphia,  which  was  now  a  great  satisfaction 
to  her ;  since  she  was  assured  that  if  he  married  she 
would  prove  an  excellent  nurse  to  him,  and  prolong 
his  life  by  some  years."  And  so,  at  the  expiration  of 
a  decent  time  from  the  funeral,  they  were  married, 
and  "kept  the  wedding  very  nobly  for  a  month  at 
their  own  house,  in  Great  Lincoln's  Inn  Fields."  But 
at  the  end  of  four  months  the  old  gentleman  fell  sick 
and  died.  "  "Whether  it  was  the  change  of  an  old 
home  for  a  new  (for  they  had  removed  to  Covent- 
Garden),  or  an  old  wife  for  a  young,  is  yet  uncertain, 
though  his  physicians  said,  and  are  still  of  opinion, 
that  doubtless  it  was  the  last."  The  young  and  beau- 


'THE   UNFOKTUNATE  HAPPY  LADY.'          193 

tiful  widow,  wlio  was  left  in  affluence,  wras  now  ad 
dressed  "  by  as  many  lovers,  or  pretended  lovers,  as 
our  dear  King  Charles,  whom  God  grant  long  to  reign, 
was  lately  by  the  Presbyterians,  Independents,  Ana 
baptists,  and  all  those  canting  whiggish  brethren ;  " 
but  she  yielded  her  hand  to  none  of  them.  In  the 
mean  time  her  worthless  brother  was  arrested  for  debt, 
and  thrown  into  gaol  in  the  King's  bench,  where  the 
Marshal  "  turned  him  to  the  common  side,  where  he 
learned  the  art  of  peg-making."  Philadelphia  used 
to  send  money  and  provisions  to  relieve  the  poor  pris 
oners,  and  she  thus  became  acquainted  with  her 
brother's  forlorn  position,  and  took  measures  unknown 
to  him  to  extricate  his  property  from  its  load  of  debt. 
One  day,  "  looking  out  of  her  coach  on  the  road  near 
Dartford,  she  saw  a  traveller  on  foot,  who  seemed  to 
be  tired  wTith  his  journey,  whose  face  she  thought  she 
had  formerly  known."  This,  of  course,  was  Grace- 
love,  "  now  very  pale  and  thin,  his  complexion  swar 
thy,  and  his  clothes  (perhaps)  as  rotten  as  if  he  had 
been  buried  in  them."  Philadelphia  did  not  make 
herself  known  to  him  ;  but  took  care  to  find  out  where 
he  lodged,  and  sent  her  steward,  who  told  him  that  he 
came  from  -the  young  widow  of  Counsellor  Fairlaw, 
and  ordered  that  he  should  "  be  taken  measure  of  by 
the  best  tailor  in  Coven t-Garden  ;  that  he  should  have 


NOVELS  AND  NOVELISTS. 

three  of  the  most  modish  rich  suits  made  that  might 
become  a  private  gentleman  of  a  thousand  pounds  a 
year,  and  hats,  perukes,  linen,  swords,  and  all  tilings 
suitable  to  them."  She  then  invited  her  brother  and 
Gracelove  and  three  of  her  admirers  to  dine  with  her. 
"  After  dinner  the  cloth  was  taken  away.  She  thus 
began  to  her  lovers :  '  My  Lord,  Sir  Thomas  and  Mr. 
Fat-acres !  I  doubt  but  that  it  will  be  some  satisfac 
tion  to  you  to  know  that  I  have  made  choice  for  my 
real  husband,  which  now  I  am  resolved  no  longer  to 
defer/"  She  then  took  a  diamond  ring  from 'her 
linger,  and,  putting  it  into  a  wine-glass,  said,  "  My 
dear  Gracelove  !  I  drink  to  thee ;  and  send  thee  back 
thy  own  ring  with  Philadelphia's  heart."  The  rest 
may  be  easily  imagined,  and  she  invited  the  party  to 
her  wedding  on  the  morrow.  The  graceless  Sir  Wil 
liam  is  by  this  time  supposed  to  be  reformed,  and  he 
is  off-hand  accepted  as  a  husband  by  the  step-daugh 
ter  Eugenia.  "  The  whole  company  in  general  went 
away  very  wrell  that  night,  who  returned  the  next 
morning  and  saw  the  two  happy  pair  firmly  united." 
Some  of  this  lady's  descriptions  it  would  be  im 
possible  to  quote ;  but  an  idea  of  their  warmth  may 
be  gathered  from  the  following  passage  in  '  The  Un 
fortunate  Bride,'  where  the  mutual  passion  of  Frank- 
wit  and  Belvira  is  thus  related :  "  Their  flames,  now 


'THE  UNHAPPY  MISTAKE.'  195 

joined,  grew  more  and  more,  glowed  in  their  cheeks, 
and  lightened  in  their  glances.  Eager  they  looked, 
as  if  there  were  pulses  beating  in  their  eyes ;  and,  all 
endearing  at  last,  she  vowed  that,  Frankwit  living, 
i  she  would  ne'er  be  any  other  man's.'  Thus  they 
past  on  some  time,  while  every  day  rolled  over  fair ; 
Heaven  showed  an  aspect  all  serene,  and  the  sun 
seemed  to  smile  at  what  was  done.  He  still  caressed 
his  charmer  with  an  innocence  becoming  his  sin 
cerity  ;  he  lived  upon  her  tender  breath,  and  basked 
in  the  bright  lustre  of  her  eyes,  with  pride  and  secret 

joy." 

In  the  i  Unhappy  Mistake '  a  lover,  who  is  about 
to  fight  a  duel,  goes  early  in  the  morning  to  his  sis 
ter's  bedroom,  with  whom  Lucretia,  the  mistress  of 
his  affections,  is  sleeping.  "  They  both  happened  to 
be  awake,  and  talking  as  he  came  to  th~e  door,  which 
his  sister  permitted  him  to  unlock,  and  asked  him  the 
reason  of  his  so  early  rising  ?  who  replied  that,  since 
he  could  not  sleep,  he  would  take  the  air  a  little. 
i  But  first,  sister '  (continued  he), '  I  will  refresh  my 
self  at  your  lips.  And  now,  madam'  (added  he  to 
Lucretia),  ( I  would  beg  a  cordial  from  you.'  l  For 
that '  (said  his  sister)  '  you  shall  be  obliged  to  me  for 
this  once.'  Saying  so,  she  gently  turned  Lucretia's 
face  toward  him,  and  he  had  his  wish.  Ten  to  one 


196  NOVELS  AND  NOVELISTS. 

but  lie  had  rather  have  continued  with  Lucretia  than 
have  gone  to  her  brother,  had  he  known  him,  for  he 
loved  her  truly  and  passionately.  But  being  a  man 
of  true  courage  and  honor,  he  took  his  leave  of  them, 
presently  dressed,  and  tripped  away  with  the  messen 
ger,  who  made  more  than  ordinary  haste." 

Mrs.,  or  rather  Miss  Manley,  for  she  was  never 
married,  is  best  known  as  the  authoress  of  the  i  New 
Atalantis,'  a  scandalous  work,  which  she  published  at 
the  end  of  the  seventeenth  or  the  beginning  of  the 
eighteenth  century.  Her  life  was  a  sad  career  of 
dissipation,  and  as  licentious  as  her  books.  But  she 
was  much  to  be  pitied.  Her  father,  Sir  Roger  Man- 
ley,  was  Governor  of  Guernsey,  and  after  his  death 
she  was  seduced  under  a  promise  of  marriage  and 
abandoned  by  a  cousin,  who  was,  unknown  to  her,  a 
married  man.  Her  'New  Atalantis,'  which  was  pub 
lished  anonymously,  was  such  a  satire  upon  many  of 
the  eminent  men  of  the  time  that  both  the  printer 
and  publisher  were  imprisoned  under  a  warrant  of 
the  Secretary  of  State,  when  she  came  forward  and 
avowed  herself  the  authoress.  She  was  arrested,  but 
sued  out  a  writ  of  habeas  corpus,  and  wras  admitted 
to  bail.  After  her  final  discharge  she  plunged  afresh 
into  vice,  and  died  in  1724,  the  mistress  of  a  printer 
named  Barber.  The  £  New  Atalantis,  or  Secret  Me- 


MRS.  MANLEY.  197 

moirs  and  Manners  of  Persons  of  Quality,'  is  one  of 
the  worst  books  I  know — the  worst  in  style  and  worst 
in  morals,  and  fully  deserves  the  oblivion  into  which 
it  has  fallen.  It  is  impossible  to  read  it  through  ;  and 
that  it  should  ever  have  been  popular — the  edition 
I  have  before  me  is  the  seventh — notwithstanding 
Pope's  line, 

"As  long  as  Atalantis  shall  be  read," 

is  almost  incredible,  and  denotes  a  taste  utterly  de 
praved.  To  a  certain  extent,  however,  this  may  be 
accounted  for  by  the  fact  that  it  is  a  scandalous 
chronicle  of  persons  in  high  life  under  thinly  dis 
guised  names,  and  reveals  or  invents  their  amours 
and  intrigues. 

Besides  this  '  New  Atalantis,'  Mrs.  Manley  wrote 
4  The  Power  of  Love,  in  seven  Novels,'  under  the 
following  names:  'The  Fair  Hypocrite,'  i  The  Physi 
cian's  Stratagem,'  'The  Wife's  Resentment,'  'The 
Husband's  Kesentment  in  two  Examples,'  'The 
Happy  Fugitive,'  and  '  The  Perjured  Beauty ; '  and 
in  her  dedication  to  Lady  Landsdowne  she  says  that 
they  have  truth  for  their  foundation,  and  several  of 
the  facts  are  to  be  found  in  ancient  histories. 

In  '  The  Fair  Hypocrite '  Reginia,  the  young  and 
beautiful  daughter  of  Charles  the  German  Emperor, 


198  NOVELS  AND  NOVELISTS. 

is,  for  reasons  of  state,  married  to  the  Duke  of  Savoy, 
an  old  man  past  seventy,  who,  "  to  please  her  fond 
girlish  fancy,"  entertains  her  with  "  collations,  pretty 
sports,  fine  clothes,  rich  jewels,  coaches  and  equi 
page  ; "  and  she,  in  return  for  his  complaisance, 
"  hugged  the  fond  Duke  in  her  arms,  with  this  fond, 
this  passionate  expression,  '  I  love  you  better  than  my 
Papa ! ' :  The  Duke's  prime  minister  was  Sigisbert, 
Count  of  Briancon,  who  fell  in  love  with  the  Duchess, 
and  when  his  old  master  left  the  capital  to  command 
the  army  "  he  saw  her  at  all  times,  and  made  the  dis 
patches  from  the  Duke  his  pretence  to  come  at  any 
hour  into  her  apartment,  even  to  her  bedside,  where, 
if  ever  a  clean  young  lady  have  any  charms,  that  is 
certainly  the  scene  wherein  they  become  most  con 
spicuous  and  dangerous  to  others."  But  the  Duchess 
was  smitten  by  the  sight  of  a  picture  of  a  young 
Spanish  nobleman,  Don  Carlos,  Duke  of  Mendoza, 
and  pined  to  behold  him.  Many  schemes  for  accom 
plishing  this  purpose  were  considered ;  and  at  last,  by 
the  advice  of  a  female  confidante^  she  resolved  to  feign 
sickness,  and  make  a  vow  if  she  recovered  to  go  on  a 
pilgrimage  to  the  shrine  of  St.  lago  cle  Compostella, 
in  Spain.  The  plan  succeeded,  and  the  Duchess  set 
out  on  her  journey,  accompanied  by  the  Lady  Isa 
bella,  a  sister  of  Don  Carlos.  When  she  saw  Don 


'THE  FAIR  HYPOCRITE.'  199 

Carlos  she  fell  desperately  in  love  with,  him  ;  but 
"  his  modesty  was  equal  to  his  beauty,"  and  she  found 
him  insensible  to  her  charms.  She  therefore,  without 
bidding  him  farewell,  suddenly  left  him  to  go  forward 
to  Compostella;  but  he  followed  her  and  overtook  her 
on  the  road,  and  avowed  that  he  was  "  vanquished 
and  irrecoverably  lost  by  the  powers  of  love."  She 
confessed  her  passion  for  him,  and  promised  to  visit 
him  again  on  her  return  from  the  shrine  of  St.  lago, 
when,  she  said,  she  should  think  herself  most  happy 
in  whatever  proofs  he  could  give  her  of  his  love, 
"  provided  we  both  may  preserve  our  innocency."  In 
the  mean  time  the  Count  de  Briangon  persuaded  the 
Duke  of  Savoy  that  it  was  right  to  go  after  his  wife, 
and  they  both  proceeded  to  Spain.  They  found  her 
at  Compostella,  and  the  Duke  knelt  beside  her  at  the 
high  altar  of  the  Cathedral.  "  Then  it  was  that  she 
felt  the  love  of  God,  and  the  disdain  of  her  guilty 
passion  filled  her  heart  with  Divine  ardor  and  con 
tempt  for  her  misdoings."  She  resolved  to  forget 
Don  Carlos  and  not  see  him  again,  "  giving  her  hand 
willingly  to  the  Duke  to  be  conducted  back  by  sea 
to  Turin."  Again  her  husband  left  her  in  Turin  to 
assume  the  command  of  his  troops,  and  the  faithless 
Count  Briancon  took  the  opportunity  of  his  absence 
to  declare  his  passion. 


200  NOVELS  AND  NOVELISTS. 

The  Duchess  received  the  avowal  "  with  a  sweet 
disdain,  which  was  more  tempered  by  sorrow  than 
scorn  ;  "  but  firmly  repulsed  the  Count's  advances. 
He  persisted  in  his  suit,  and  one  morning  "  bringing 
letters  from  her  lord  to  her  bedside,  which  he  said  re 
quired  an  immediate  answer  and  consultation,  he  bade 
her  women  retire,  and  had  the  boldness  not  only  to 
kiss  the  Duchess  by  force,  but  was  proceeding  to 
greater  liberties,"  when  he  was  compelled  to  desist 
by  her  stern  rebuke.  The  Count  now  saw  that  his 
own  ruin  was  inevitable  unless  he  could  first  pro 
cure  that  of  the  Duchess,  and  his  guilty  passion  was 
changed  into  hatred  and  a  burning  desire  for  revenge. 
lie  feigned  penitence  and  remorse,  and  the  fair  au 
thoress  says  :  "  It  may  be  a  proper  question  whether 
any  woman  was  ever  truly  enraged  at  seeing  the  effects 
of  her  beauty  when  she  had  not  suffered  much  by  it. 
Her  Highness's  wrongs  were  only  imaginary ;  a  kiss 
or  two,  with  the  aspect  of  a  greater  force,  might  be 
easily  forgiven  to  a  true  penitent  who  was,  perhaps, 
by  his  death  to  expiate  his  offence.  Add  to  this  the 
softness  and  good-nature  which  are  usually  lodged  in 
ladies'  breasts  ;  the  Duchess  was  so  far  influenced  by 
them  that  she  easily  came  to  a  composition  with  the 
criminal."  He  promised  not  to  offend  again,  and  she 
promised  not  to  inform  the  Duke,  "if  he  never  fell 


'THE  FAIR  HYPOCRITE.1  201 

into  a  relapse."  The  Count  had  a  young  nephew 
named  Lotharius,  whom  he  now  resolved  to  use  as 
the  instrument  of  his  vengeance.  He  pretended  ill 
ness,  and  sending  for  his  nephew  told  him  that  he  had 
made  his  will  and  named  him  as  his  heir.  His  ambi 
tion,  he  said,  was  to  marry  him  to  the  Duchess  if  the 
Duke  should  die  in  the  campaign,  and  he  advised  him 
to  do  all  in  his  power  to  ingratiate  himself  with  her  ; 
and  as  he  had  observed  that  she  had  often  cast  upon 
him  eyes  of  affection,  Lotharius  willingly  entered  into 
the  scheme,  and  began  to  pay  assiduous  court  to  his 
princely  mistress,  who  received  him  graciously.  At 
last  his  uncle  told  him  that  he  must  take  steps  to 
assure  himself  of  her  sincerity,  and  suggested  that  he 
should  get  that  night  into  her  chamber,  and  hide 
himself  under  the  bed,  and  "  an  hour  after  midnight, 
when  the  bedchamber  lady  is  retired  to  her  own  bed 
in  the  little  room  adjoining,  who  happens  to  be  the 
Countess  of  Brian  con,  of  whom  thou  needest  not  stand 
so  much  in  fear,  thou  mayest  come  softly  out  and 
satisfy  her  of  thy  fidelity  and  discretion."  The  poor 
youth  fell  into  the  trap  and  hid  himself  under  the 
bed,  but  after  the  Duchess  had  got  into  it,  in  rushed 
the  Count  with  his  sword  drawn,  and  followed  by 
three  great  officers  of  the  Court,  crying  out,  "  Traitor, 


202  NOVELS  AND  NOVELISTS. 

I  shall  certainly  find  thee  here."  The  scene  reminds 
one  of  Don  Juan — 

"  They  looked  beneath  the  bed,  and  there  they  found  " 

— the  unhappy  Lotharius,  who  was  pulled  out  by  his 
hair  and  stabbed  to  the  heart  by  his  treacherous  un 
cle.  It  was  the  stratagem  of  Tarquin  to  destroy  the 
reputation  of  Lucretia.  A  courier  was  dispatched  to 
the  Duke  writh  the  fatal  news,  and  he  sent  orders  that 
the  law  should  be  put  in  force  against  his  wife  as  an 
adulteress.  The  judges  seem  to  have  been  rather  at 
a  loss  to  know  what  the  law  was,  for  they  caused  the 
records  to  be  searched,  and  there  they  found  that  ac 
cording  to  ancient  precedents  a  pillar  of  marble  was 
to  be  erected  between  the  bridge  of  the  Po  and  the 
city,  on  which  was  to  be  engraved  the  accusation 
against  the  Duchess  and  a  summons  to  her  champion 
to  enter  the  lists  on  her  behalf  against  the  Count  de 
Brian  gon,  within  twelve  months  and  a  day,  or  else 
she  was  to  die  by  fire.  To  make  the  rest  of  the  story 
short,  Don  Carlos  accepted  the  challenge,  and  in  sin 
gle  combat  overthrew  the  Count.  When  he  had  un 
horsed  him,  he  put  his  sword  to  his  throat  and  made 
him  confess  his  villany,  after  which  the  people  rushed 
upon  the  traitor  and  tore  him  to  pieces.  The  Duke 
died  at  the  right  moment,  and  Don  Carlos  married 


MRS.   HEYWOOD.  203 

the  Duchess.  "!N"o  words  can  describe  the  happiness 
of  the  two  lovers  when  the  close-drawn  curtains  left 
them  to  whisper  to  each  other's  souls  their  mutual 
desires  :  Yenus  blessed  their  bed,  and  from  this  beau 
teous  pair  descended  a  race  of  heroes  worthy  of  their 
illustrious  extraction." 

This  will  be  a  sufficient  specimen  of  the  seven 
stories  of  the  'Power  of  Love,'  and  Mrs.  Manley's 
style.  It  is  far  less  objectionable  than  that  of  the 
4  NGW  Atalantis,'  and  hardly  worse  than  that  of  Mrs. 
Behn,  which  is  certainly  not  saying  much  for  it. 

We  now  come  to  Mrs.  Heywood,  or  Haywood, 
who  died  in  ITS 6.  She  figures  prominently  in  the 
'  Dunciad,'  under  the  name  of  Eliza,  and  is  repre 
sented 

u  With  cow-like  udders  and  with  ox-like  eyes," 

as  one  of  the  prizes  to  be  contended  for  in  the 
*  Games  of  the  Dunces.' 

"  See  in  the  circle  next  Eliza  placed, 
Two  babes  of  love  close  clinging  to  her  waist ; 
Fair  as  before  her  works  she  stands  confessed, 
In  flowers  and  pearls  by  bounteous  Kirkall  dressed*" 

The  rest  of  the  passage  is  in  Pope's  coarsest  style. 
Besides  the  '  History  of  Miss  Betsy  Thoughtless,'  she 


204:  NOVELS  AND  NOVELISTS. 

wrote  the  c  Court  of  Caramania,'  the  '  New  Utopia,' 
and  several  other  tales,  such  as  the  '  Fortunate  Found 
ling,'  and  '  Jenny  and  Jemmy  Jessamy.'  *  (  Miss 
Betsy  Thoughtless  '  is  rather  a  clever  work  and  inter 
esting,  as  the  first  really  domestic  novel  according  to 
modern  ideas,  that  exists  in  the  language.  It  has 
been  supposed  that  Miss  Burney  took  it  as  the  model 
of  her  '  Evelina,'  and  it  is  the  only  novel  I  know 
which  could  have  served  for  the  purpose.  As,  al 
though  once  celebrated,  it  is  now  almost  entirely  for 
gotten,  I  will  give  a  short  sketch  of  the  plot : 

Betsy  Thoughtless  gets  into  several  compromising 
scrapes,  not  from  any  vicious  propensities,  from  which 
she  is  absolutely  free,  but  owing  to  that  feature  in  her 
character  which  is  expressed  by  her  name.  Her 
worst  fault  is  vanity,  and  her  head  is  turned  by  the 
multiplicity  of  her  admirers,  of  whom  only  one, 
named  Trueworth,  is  able  at  all  to  touch  her  heart, 
and  she  loses  him  by  her  foolish  inattention  to  appear 
ances,  and  her  impatience  of  the  least  remonstrance 
which  implies  an  imputation  upon  the  correctness  of 
her  behavior.  She  is  left  motherless  while  a  child, 
and  her  father  dies  before  she  has  attained  her  fif- 

*  She  also  conducted  a  monthly  periodical  called  '  The  Fe 
male  Spectator,'  from  April,  1744,  to  March,  1746.  See  Drake's 
*  Essays,'  vol.  iv.  p.  92, 


'MISS  BETSY  THOUGHTLESS.'  205 

teenth  year.  She  has  two  brothers,  the  eldest  of 
whom,  Thomas,  is  then  abroad,  and  the  other,  Fran 
cis,  a  student  at  Oxford.  She  comes  up  from  the 
country  and  is  placed  in  London  under  the  care  of  one 
of  her  guardians,  an  elderly  merchant  named  Good 
man,  who  has  married  a  young  widow,  Lady  Mellasin, 
who  under  the  mask  of  simulated  affection  entirely 
governs  him.  Lady  Mellasin  has  a  daughter  named 
Flora,  an  abandoned  young  lady,  who  makes  no  scru 
ple  to  sacrifice  her  honor  to  her  passions,  and  who  is 
detected  by  Miss  Betsy  in  an  intrigue,  seen  through 
a  chink  in  the  panel  of  her  bedroom.  The  secret, 
however,  is  kept,  and  the  young  ladies  continue  to 
sleep  together  as  if  nothing  had  happened.  Miss 
Betsy  has  also  the  misfortune  to  have  made  friends 
with  a  school-fellow  in  the  country,  a  Miss  Forward, 
who  falls  an  easy  victim  to  the  arts  of  a  seducer,  and 
coming  up  to  town  imposes  upon  Betsy's  simplicity 
as  to  her  position  and  character,  and  involves  her  in 
embarrassments  which  make  Trueworth  believe  that 
she  is  wholly  unworthy  of  his  love.  This  is  aided  by 
the  unscrupulous  use  of  anonymous  letters,  in  which 
her  reputation  is  slandered  by  Miss  Flora.  The  re 
sult  is  that  he  withdraws  from  his  attentions  to  her 
and  afterward  falls  in  love  with  and  marries  Harriet 
Loveit,  the  amiable  sister  of  Sir  Basil  Loveit.  In  the 


206.  NOVELS  AND  NOVELISTS. 

mean  time  Lady  Mellasin  has  been  carrying  on  an  in 
trigue  with  an  old  lover  named  Marplus,  to  whom  be 
fore  her  marriage  with  Mr.  Goodman  she  was  by  a 
trick  induced  to  give  her  hand  for  two  thousand  five 
hundred  pounds,  and  whose  rapacious  demands  upon 
her  purse  she  had  great  difficulty  in  satisfying  so  as  to 
conceal  her  infamy  from  her  husband.  He,  however, 
is  at  last  arrested  for  the  amount  of  the  bond,  for 
which  by  his  marriage  he  had  become  liable,  and  then 
all  the  wickedness  of  his  wife  becomes  known  to  him. 
This  has  such  an  effect  upon  him  that  before  lie  is 
able  to  get  a  divorce  he  dies,  having  by  his  will  left 
only  a  small  provision  for  his  wridow ;  but  a  forged 
will  is  set  up  by  her.  While  all  this  is  going  on,  Miss 
Betsy  has  removed  from  Mr.  Goodman's  house  and 
taken  lodgings  in  Jermyn  Street,  where  she  lives  upon 
a  sufficient  income  and  receives  her  admirers,  whose 
visits  to  an  unmarried  young  lady  living  alone  do  not 
seem  in  the  opinion  of  the  authoress  to  be  at  all  in 
consistent  with  strict  propriety.  Among  these  are 
a  soi-disant  baronet,  Sir  Frederick  Fineer,  and  a  Mr. 
Munden.  The  Baronet,  however,  is  in  reality  a  dis 
carded  valet,  who  succeeds  in  forcing  her  into  a  sham 
marriage  at  the  house  of  her  milliner,  Mrs.  Modeley, 
by  the  aid  of  a  mock  clergyman ;  and  we  have  a 
scene  which  reminds  us  of  that  in  {  Sir  Charles  Gran- 


'MISS  BETSY  THOUGHTLESS.'  207 

dison,'  where  Harriet  Byron  more  successfully  resists 
the  attempt  of  Sir  Hargrave  Pollexfen  to  compel  her 
to  become  his  wife,  when  she  dashes  the  Prayer-book 
on  the  ground.  At  the  proper  moment,  however, 
Miss  Betsy  is  rescued  from  the  villain  by  her  former 
lover,  Mr.  Trueworth,  just  before  he  becomes  the  hus 
band  of  Miss  Loveit.  She  then  is  persuaded  by  her 
brothers  and  her  other  guardian,  Sir  Ralph  Trusty, 
who  with  his  wife  has  always  acted  the  part  of  a  kind 
friend  to  her,  to  accept  the  addresses  of  Mr.  Munden, 
and  she  becomes  his  wife,  although  she  cares  little  for 
him,  and  he  is  very  unworthy  of  her.  The  marriage 
turns  out  unhappily.  Her  husband  is  stingy  and  self 
ish,  and  a  libertine;  but  she  herself  endeavors-to  do 
her  duty,  and  under  the  chastening  discipline  of  mat 
rimonial  trials  she  gains  sedateness  and  strength  of 
character. 

At  the  house  of  a  nobleman  from  whom  her  hus 
band  expects  some  appointment,  she  is  in  great  danger 
from  his  libertine  advances,  and  with  great  difficulty 
escapes  ;  but  soon  after  her  return  home  is  driven 
from  it  by  the  misconduct  of  Mr.  Munden,  who  gives 
loose  to  his  passion  for  a  Frenchwoman,  the  discard 
ed  mistress  of  her  eldest  brother.  She  quits  his  house 
and  takes  refuge  with  her  brother.  Her  husband  tries 
to  force  her  to  return  to  him,  but  she  withdraws  from 


208  NOVELS  AND  NOVELISTS. 

his  pursuit,  and,  while  matters  are  in  this  state,  he 
falls  suddenly  ill,  and  she  comes  to  his  death-bed  to 
perform  her  duty  to  the  last.  She  then  retires  to  pass 
the  first  year  of  her  widowhood  with  Sir  Ralph  and 
Lady  Trusty  in  the  country ;  and  as  in  the  mean  time 
Trueworth's  wife  has  died,  all  his  old  love  for  Betsy 
revives,  and  the  story  ends  when  they  are  happily 
married. 

True  worth  pays  a  visit  to  the  fair  w^idow  at  the 
expiration  of  a  year's  mourning,  and  she  becomes 
aware  of  his  arrival  by  "  a  very  neat  running  foot 
man,  who,  on  the  gate  being  opened,  came  tripping 
toward  the  house,  and  was  immediately  followed  by  a 
coach,  with  one  gentleman  in  it,  drawn  by  six  pran 
cing  horses" — people  in  those  days  seem  never  to 
have  travelled  with  less  than  six  horses — "  and  at 
tended  by  two  servants  in  rich  liveries,  and  well 
mounted.  .  .  .  Prepared  as*  she  was  by  the  expecta 
tion  of  his  arrival,  all  her  presence  of  mind  was  not 
sufficient  to  enable  her  to  stand  the  sudden  rush  of 
joy  which,  on  the  sight  of  him,  burst  in  upon  her 
heart ;  nor  was  he  less  overcome  ;  he  sprang  into  her 
arms,  which  of  themselves  opened  to  receive  him,  and 
while  he  kissed  away  the  tears  that  trickled  from  her 
eyes,  his  own  bedewed  her  cheeks.  i  Oh !  have  I 
lived  to  see  you  thus,'  cried  he,  c  thus  ravishingly 


'MISS  BETSY  THOUGHTLESS.'  209 

kind  !  '  '  And  have  I  lived,'  rejoined  she,  '  to  receive 
these  proofs  of  affection  from  the  best  and  most  ill- 
used  of  men.  Oh  !  Trueworth  !  Trueworth  ! '  added 
she,  c  I  have  not  merited  this  from  you.'  '  You  merit 
all  things,'  said  he ;  ;  let  us  talk  no  more  of  what  is 
past,  but  tell  me  that  you  now  are  mine ;  I  came  to 
make  you  so  by  the  irrevocable  ties  of  love  and  law, 
and  we  must  now  part  no  more  !  Speak,  my  angel — 
my  first,  my  last  charmer  ! '  continued  he,  perceiving 
she  was  silent,  blushed,  and  hung  down  her  head. 
4  Let  those  dear  lips  confirm  my  happiness,  and  say 
the  time  is  come,  that  you  will  be  all  mine.'  The 
trembling  fair  now  having  gathered  a  little  more 
assurance,  raised  her  eyes  from  the  earth,  and  looking 
tenderly  on  him  :  i  You  know  you  have  my  heart,' 
cried  she,  '  and  cannot  doubt  my  hand.' ': 

Such  is  a  meagre  sketch  of  the  plot  of  this  once 
popular  novel,  omitting  numerous  episodes  which,  at 
the  present  day,  would  be  deemed  very  unfit  for  the 
perusal  of  those  for  whom  it  is  professedly  designed. 
But,  notwithstanding  these,  it  is  obvious  throughout 
that  it  is  the  honest  purpose  of  the  writer  to  promote 
the  cause  of  innocence  and  virtue.  In  no  one  of  her 
characters  does  immorality  go  unpunished  ;  and,  if 
vicious  scenes  are  too  nakedly  described,  she  cannot 
be  accused  of  making  them  alluring  and  attractive. 


210  NOVELS  AND  NOVELISTS. 

In  that  age  it  was  taken  for  granted  that  they  must 
occur  in  the  so-called  journey  of  life,  as  much  as  dirty 
puddles  must  be  met  with  in  an  actual  road. 

Beyond  the  risks  which  every  young  lady  was  then 
supposed  to  run  of  becoming  the  object  of  licentious 
addresses,  such  as  would  be  impossible  in  good  society 
now,  there  is  not  much  in  this  novel  that  is  charac 
teristic  of  a  different  state  of  manners  from  those  of 
the  present  day.  But  a  few  little  touches  may  be  no 
ticed:  It  seems  that  it  was  not  thought  indecorous  for 
a  young  woman  to  receive  male  visitors  in  her  dress 
ing-room  while  performing  her  toilet.  The  usual 
mode  of  conveyance  wras  a  chair,  and  ladies,  when 
they  wished  to  preserve  an  incognito,  went  abroad  in 
masks.  It  is  in  this  disguise  that  Flora  Mellasin 
meets  Trueworth  by  appointment  "  at  General  Tat- 
ten's  bench,  opposite  Rosamond's  pond,  in  St.  James's 
Park."  Rosamond's  pond  had  rather  a  bad  reputa 
tion,  both  as  the  scene  of  assignations  and  a  place 
for  suicide.  In  Southern's  play  of  the  Maid's  Last 
Prayer,  acted  in  1693,  when  Granger  says  to  Lady 
Trickett  that  he  did  not  see  her  at  Rosamond's  pond, 
she  exclaims,  "  Me !  fie,  fie,  a  married  woman  there, 
Mr.  Granger !  "  What  has  become  of  General  Tat- 
ten's  bench  I  know  not,  but  Rosamond's  pond  was 
filled  up  in  1770  by  "  Capability  "  Brown. 


'MISS  BETSY  THOUGHTLESS.'  211 

The  fashionable  dinner-hour  was  then  three 
o'clock.*  Knockers  were  so  constructed  that  they 
could  be  removed  from  the  front  door  at  night  when 
the  inmates  went  to  bed.  At  least  so  I  gather  from 
the  following  passage :  "  She  came  not  home  till  be 
tween  one  and  two  o'clock  in  the  morning,  but  was 

o" 

extremely  surprised  to  find  that  when  she  did  so  the 
knocker  was  taken  off  the  door :  a  thing  which,  in 
complaisance  to  her,  had  never  before  been  done  till 
she  came  in,  how  late  soever  she  stayed  abroad." 

The  passion  of  love  is  the  same  in  all  ages,  but  the 
style  of  love-making  is  very  different. 

One  of  Miss  Betsy  Thoughtless's  lovers  thus  ad 
dresses  her : 

"  i  The  deity  of  soft  desires  flies  the  confused  glare 
of  pomp  and  public  shows ; — 'tis  in  the  shady  bowers, 
or  on  the  banks  of  a  sweet  purling  stream,  he  spreads 
his  downy  wings,  and  wafts  his  thousand  nameless 
pleasures  on  the  fond — the  innocent  and  the  happy 
pair.' 

"  He  was  going  on,  but  she  interrupted  him  with 
a  loud  laugh.  i  Hold,  hold,'  cried  she  ;  c  was  there 
ever  such  a  romantic  description  ?  I  wonder  how 

*  In  1725,  the  time  of  dinner  at  Merton  College,  Oxford, 
was  altered  from  twelve  o'clock  to  one :  and  was  altered  soon 
afterward  to  twelve  o'clock  again,  "  for  weighty  reasons." — 
Rawlinson's  MSS.,  quoted  in  '  Oxoniana.' 


212  NOVELS  AND  NOVELISTS. 

such  silly  ideas  come  into  your  head — "  shady  bowers  ! 
and  purling  streams  !  " — Heavens,  how  insipid  !  "Well J 
(continued  she),  £  you  may  be  the  Strephon  of  the 
woods,  if  you  think  fit ;  but  I  shall  never  envy  the 
happiness  of  the  Chloe  that  accompanies  you  in  these 
fine  recesses.  What !  to  be  cooped  up  like  a  tame 
dove,  only  to  coo,  and  bill,  and  Ireed  f  O,  it  would 
be  a  delicious  life,  indeed  ! ' : 


CHAPTER    VII. 


RICHARDSON.  —  '  CLARISSA  HARLOWE.'  —  '  PAMELA.'  —  '  SIR  CHARLES 
GRANDISON.'—  RICHARDSON'S  CORRESPONDENCE.—  HIS  PORTRAIT 
DRAWN  BY  HIMSELF. 


IF  my  object  were  to  give  a  history  of 
the  eighteenth  century,  there  is  hardly  any  name 
which  would  more  deservedly  claim  our  attention 
than  the  name  of  Defoe,  who,  of  all  novelists,  is  the 
one  who  has  given  the  most  lifelike  reality  to  his 
stories,  and  cheats  his  readers  most  easily  into  the  be 
lief  that  imaginary  scenes  are  the  narratives  of  actual 
fact.  But  my  purpose  is  different,  and  the  works  of 
Defoe  throw  little  or  no  light  upon  the  social  manners 
of  the  age  with  which  we  have  to  deal,  not  to  men 
tion  the  difficulty  there  would  be  in  conveying,  with 
out  offence,  an  idea  of  such  heroes  and  heroines  as 
Captain  Singleton,  Roxana,  Moll  Flanders,  and  Colo 
nel  Jack.  We  may  therefore  dismiss  from  our  notice 
the  immortal  author  of  'Robinson  Crusoe,'  and  turn 
to  the  next  chief  figure  among  the  novelists  of  the 


214  NOVELS  AND  NOVELISTS. 

century,  I  mean  Richardson,  the  author  of  c  Pamela,' 
'  Clarissa,'  and  '  Sir  Charles  Grandison.' 

And  what  are  we  to  say  of  these  famous  novels 
which  stirred  to  their  inmost  depths  the  hearts  of  a 
by-gone  generation,  and  were  regarded  as  the  great 
literary  feats  of  the  age  in  which  they  appeared  ?  Few. 
very  few,  read  them  now,  but  there  are  some  minds 
for  which  they  have  attractions  still.  Lord  Macaulay 
told  Thackeray  that  when  he  produced  l  Clarissa  '  one 
hot  season  at  the  hills  in  India,  "  the  whole  station 
was  in  a  passion  of  excitement  ....  the  Governor's 
wife  seized  the  book,  and  the  Secretary  waited  for  it, 
and  the  Chief- Justice  could  not  read  it  for  tears." 
One  enthusiastic  admirer  in  the  last  century  went  so 
far  as  to  say,  that  if  all  other  books  were  to  be  burnt, 
'  Pamela  '  and  the  Bible  should  be  preserved ;  and 
ladies  at  Hanelagh  used  to  hold  up  the  book  in  tri 
umph  to  show  that  they  were  lucky  enough  to  possess 
a  copy.  One  of  Richardson's  correspondents,  how 
ever,  wrote  to  him  that  ladies  complained  that  they 
could  not  read  the  letters  of  Pamela  without  blushing 
— and  well  they  might. 

Sir  John  Herschel  tells  an  anecdote  of  a  black 
smith  at  a  much  later  period,  who  used  to  read  the 
book'  to  his  village  neighbors  collected  round  his  an 
vil,  and  when,  at  the  end  of  the  story,  it  turned  out 


1  CLARISSA   HARLOWE.'  215 

that  Pamela  and  her  master  were  happily  married, 
the  unsophisticated  rustics  shouted  for  joy,  and  pro 
curing  the  keys  of  the  church  set  the  bells  ringing. 
Mrs.  Barbauld  says  that  she  well  remembered  a 
Frenchman  who  paid  a  visit  to  Hampstead,  for  the 
sole  purpose  of  finding  out  the  house  in  the  Flask 
Walk  where  Clarissa  lodged,  and  was  surprised  at  the 
ignorance  or  indifference  of  the  inhabitants  on  the 
subject.  The  Flask  Walk  was  to  him  what  the  Hocks 
of  Meillerie,  on  the  Lake  of  Geneva,  were  to  the  -wor 
shippers  of  Rousseau. 

But  de  gustibus  hand  dispiitanduin^  and  every  one 
roust  judge  for  himself— 

"  Nullius  addictus  jurare  in  verba  magistri." 

To  me,  I  confess, '  Clarissa  Harlowe  '  is  an  unpleasant, 
not  to  say  odious,  book. 

I  read  it  through  once,  many  years  ago,  and  I 
should  be  sorry  to  do  so  again.  As  to  the  plot  of  the 
story,  there  is  really  almost  none. 

"  Story  ?  God  bless  you,  I  have  none  to  tell,  sir !  " 

A  young  lady  leaves  her  father's  house  to  avoid  a  dis 
tasteful  marriage,  and  throws  herself  upon  the  protec 
tion  of  her  lover,  who,  after  in  vain  attempting  to 
seduce  her,  succeeds  in  effecting  her  ruin  by  an  act  for 


216  NOVELS  AND  NOVELISTS 

which  he  might  have  been  hanged.  He  afterward 
offers  to  marry  her,  but  she  refuses,  and  retiring  to 
solitary  lodgings,  dies  broken-hearted,  while  the  vil 
lain  is  killed  abroad  in  a  duel  by  a  relative  of  the  lady. 
Upon  this  foundation  Richardson  has  built  up  seven 
or  eight  tedious  volumes,  consisting  of  letters  between 
"  two  young  ladies  of  virtue  and  honor,"  Miss  Cla 
rissa  Harlowe  and  Miss  Howe,  and  "two  gentlemen 
of  free  lives,"  Mr.  Lovelace  and  Mr.  Belford,  besides 
others.*  The  key-note  of  the  whole  composition  is 
libertine  pursuit,  and  we  are  wearied  and  disgusted  by 
volume  after  volume  devoted  to  the  single  subject 
of  attack  on  a  woman's  chastity.  It  would  be  bad 
enough  to  read  this  if  compressed  into  a  few  chapters, 
but  it  becomes  intolerably  repulsive  when  spun  out  in 
myriads  of  letters.  If  any  book  deserved  the  charge 
of  "  sickly  sentimentality,"  it  is  this,  and  that  it  should 
have  once  been  so  widely  popular,  and  thought  ad 
mirably  adapted  to  instruct  young  women  in  lessons 
of  virtue  and  religion,  shows  a  strange  and  perverted 
state  of  the  public  taste,  not  to  say  public  morals.f 

*  Clarissa's  will  occupies  nineteen  closely-printed  pages. 

t  Two  ladies,  without  the  knowledge  of  each  other,  wrote 
to  Richardson,  the  one  blaming  Clarissa  as  a  coquette,  and  the 
other  blaming  her  as  a  prude.  He  sent  to  each  the  letter  of  the 
other  by  way  of  an  answer  to  both.  See  his  '  Correspondence,' 
vol.  vi.  p.  82. 


'  CLARISSA  IIARLOWE.'  217 

Richardson,  in  his  preface,  thinks  that  he  deserves 
credit  for  not  making  his  libertines  infidels.  He  says : 
"  It  will  be  proper  to  observe,  for  the  sake  of  such  as 
may  apprehend  hurt  to  the  morals  of  youth  from  the 
more  freely  written  letters,  that  the  gentlemen,  though 
professed  libertines  as  to  the  female  sex,  and  making 
it  one  of  their  wicked  maxims  to  keep  no  faith  with 
any  of  the  individuals  of  it  who  are  thrown  into  their 
power,  are  not,  however,  either  infidels  or  scoffers, 
nor  yet  such  as  think  themselves  freed  from  the  ob 
servances  of  those  other  moral  duties  which  bind  man 
to  man."  And,  apologizing  for  not  making  Clarissa 
Harlowe  herself  "  perfect,"  he  adds,  "  To  have  been 
impeccable  must  have  left  nothing  for  divine  grace 
and  a  purified  state  to  do,  and  earned  our  idea  of  her 
from  woman  to  angel."  It  is  nauseous  to  find  religion 
thus  mixed  up  with  such  a  story ;  and  as  to  the  plea 
that  Lovelace  is  not  an  atheist,  Richardson  forgets  the 
Book  where  the  converse  case  is  put,  and  we  are  told 
that  "  He  that  said  Do  not  commit  adultery  said  also, 
Do  not  kill.  Now  if  thou  commit  no  adultery,  yet 
if  thou  kill  thou  art  become  a  transgressor  of  the 
law."  As  well  might  a  highwayman  in  the  dock  urge 
in  his  defence  that  he  had  not  committed  arson  or 
forgery. 

What  has  been  said  of  c  Clarissa'  applies  almost 
10 


218  NOVELS  AND  NOVELISTS. 

equally  to  '  Pamela,'  which  was  Kichardson's  first 
novel.  It  is  the  story,  told  in  interminable  letters,  of 
a  servant-girl  who  resists  the  attempts  of  her  master 
to  triumph  over  her  virtue,  and  finally  marries  him. 
This,  however,  may  be  said  for  '  Pamela '  that  the 
letters,  although  full  of  tedious  gossip,  are  written  in 
an  artless  natural  style ;  *  and  if  we  except  one  or 
two  scenes,  in  which  the  peril  of  the  heroine  is  too 
vividly  and  broadly  detailed — witness  that  in  the 
lonely  house  in  Lincolnshire — they  contain  little  that 
need  offend  modern  delicacy.  It  is  impossible  not  to 
sympathize  with  the  poor  girl  who  so  courageously  re 
sists  every  effort  to  effect  her  ruin,  and  not  to  rejoice 
in  the  happiness  which  is  afterward  her  lot.  But 
after  all,  it  is  only  harping  upon  one  string — page 
after  page  and  letter  after  letter — and  that  string  is 
what  Charles  Lamb  calls  "  the  undivided  pursuit  of 
lawless  gallantry." 

Dr.  Johnson  said  that  there  is  more  knowledge  of 
the  heart  in  one  letter  of  Richardson  than  in  all  (  Tom 


*  Richardson  had  early  experience  in  affaires  de  cceur  of 
the  humbler  classes,  for,  when  he  was  a  mere  boy,  he  was  em 
ployed  by  some  young  women  "  who  had  a  high  opinion  of  his 
taciturnity,"  to  write  love-letters  for  them.  If  they  were  at  all 
in  his  later  style,  they  must  have  been  terribly  long-winded,  and 
taxed  not  a  little  the  patience  of  the  rustic  swains  to  whom 
they  were  addressed. 


RICHARDSON'S  SENTIMENT.  219 

Jones ; '  and  when  Erskine  remarked  to  him,  as  well 
lie  might,  "  Surely,  sir,  Richardson  is  very  tedious," 
Johnson  answered,  "  Why,  sir,  if  you  were  to  read 
Richardson  for  the  story,  your  impatience  would  be  so 
much  fretted  that  you  would  hang  yourself;  but  you 
must  read  him  for  the  sentiment,  and  consider  the 
story  as  only  giving  occasion  to  the  sentiment."  If 
the  tediousness  of  the  story  would  induce  a  reader  to 
hang  himself,  I  do  not  think  that  the  sentiment,  or 
rather  sentimentality,  would  prevent  him.  A  great 
part  of  it  is  twaddle,  and  one  cannot  help  agreeing 
with  D'Alembert,  who  said,  with  reference  to  Rich 
ardson  :  "  La  nature  est  bonne  a  imiter,  mais  non  pas 
jusqu'a  1'ennui." 

In  i  Sir  Charles  Grandison '  we  have  a  story  to 
which  the  objection  of  immorality  does  not  apply ; 
and  as  it  was  once  so  celebrated,  and  is  now  so  seldom 
read,  some  account  of  it  may  be  interesting.  Rich 
ardson  tells  us  that  lie  was  persuaded  by  his  friend 
"  to  produce  into  public  view  the  character  and  ac 
tions  of  a  man  of  TRUE  HONOR."  *  And  he  presents 
to  the  reader,  "  in  Sir  Charles  Grandison,  the  example 
of  a  man  acting  uniformly  well  through  a  variety  of 

*  la  one  of  his  letters,  in  1756,  he  says  :  "  I  am  teased  by  a 
dozen  ladies  of  note  and  virtue  to  give  them  a  good  man,  as 
they  say  I  have  been  partial  to  their  sex  and  unkind  to  my 
own." 


220  NOVELS  AND  NOVELISTS. 

trying  scenes  because  all  his  actions  are  regulated  by 
one  steady  principle.  A  man  of  religion  and  virtue, 
of  liveliness  and  spirit,  accomplished  and  agreeable, 
happy  in  himself,  and  a  blessing  to  others."  And 
however  much  we  may  quarrel  with  the  tedious  length 
of  the  interminable  letters  that  comprise  the  work, 
and  sicken  at  the  sentiment  which  forms  the  staple  of 
most  of  them,  it  must  be  admitted  that,  beyond  the 
drawback  of  too  stiff  and  ceremonious  a  politeness, 
the  character  of  Richardson's  hero  fully  comes  up  to 
his  ideal.  He  is,  in  fact,  "  the  faultless  monster  whom 
the  world  ne'er  saw !  "  Young,  rich,  graceful,  and 
accomplished,  he  is  not  only  absolutely  free  from  vice, 
but  all  his  actions  are  governed  by  high  religious 
principle.  He  is  romantically  generous  and  yet  per 
fectly  prudent,  and  his  behavior  toward  the  fair  sex  is 
marked  with  all  that  chivalrous  delicacy  and  respect 
which,  since  the  novel  was  written,  has  passed  into  a 
proverb,  and  to  be  a  Sir  Charles  Grandison  to  the 
ladies,  is  supposed  to  be  a  modern  lady's  perfect 
Knight, 

The  heroine  of  the  story,  and  the  principal  writer 
of  the  long-winded  letters,  is  Harriet  Byron,  an  or 
phan  girl,  brought  up  by  an  uncle  and  aunt,  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Selby,  and  a  grandmother,  Mrs.  Shirley,  who 
live  near  one  another  in  easy  circumstances,  in  North- 


'SIR   CHARLES   GRANDISON.'  221 

amptonshire.  Miss  Byron  is,  of  course,  beautiful, 
although  rather  short,  and  at  the  age  of  twenty,  when 
the  letters  begin,  has  three  passionate  admirers  in  the 
country,  Mr.  Greville,  Mr.  Fenwick,  and  Mr.  Orme. 
Greville  is  a  man  of  no  principle,  and  no  self-control, 
full  of  self-conceit ;  an  obstinate  lover,  who  tries  to 
carry  her  affections  by  storm,  and  will  take  no  repulse 
or  denial.  Fenwick  and  Orme  are  much  more  amia 
ble,  but  neither  has  been  able  to  make  any  impression 
on  Harriet's  heart.  Both  are  kept  much  in  the  back 
ground  of  the  story,  and,  indeed,  all  we  know  of  Orme 
is  that  he  continues  sighing  in  a  state  of  bashful  silli 
ness  at  his  country-seat ;  and  when  Miss  Byron  passes 
in  her  carriage  by  the  gates  of  his  park,  "  there  was 
he  on  the  very  ridge  of  the  highway.  I  saw  him  not 
till  it  was  near  him.  He  bowed  to  the  very  ground 
with  such  an  air  of  disconsolateness !  Poor  Mr. 
Orme  !  "  Greville  and  Fenwick,  however,  although 
rivals  for  her  hand,  have  entered  into  an  armed  neu 
trality  together,  and  each  is  to  try  to  win  the  prize 
without  quarrelling  with  the  other.  Miss  Byron  goes 
up  to  town  to  visit  her  cousins,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Reeves, 
and  is  attended  b}^  her  two  lovers  Greville  and  Fen 
wick  to  the  first  "  baiting,"  when  they  had  "  a  genteel 
dinner  "  ready  provided  for  them,  and  then  took  leave. 
"  ;  Fenwick,  you  dog,'  said  Mr.  Greville  " — it  is  Miss 


222  NOVELS  AND  NOVELISTS. 

Byron  who  writes — " '  we  must  return.  Miss  Byron 
looks  grave.'  .  .  .  And  in  the  most  respectful  man 
ner  they  both  took  leave  of  me,  insisting,  however, 
on  my  hand  that  I  would  wish  them  well." 

No  sooner  has  Miss  Byron  arrived  in  London  than 
she  is  instantly  beset  by  lovers ;  one  of  them  is  Mr. 
Fowler,  the  nephew  of  a  Welsh  knight,  Sir  Rowland 
Meredith,  an  old  bachelor,  with  "  a  gold  button  and 
button-hole  coat,  and  full  buckle  and  wig,"  whose 
great  object  in  life  is  to  see  his  nephew  well  married. 
Mr.  Fowler  falls  in  love  with  Harriet  at  first  sight, 
when  he  meets  her  at  a  dinner-table,  and  comes  the 
next  day  to  beseech  Mr.  Reeves  "  to  give  him  his  in 
terest  "  with  her  "  without  asking  any  questions  about 
her  fortune."  He  is  followed  next  morning  by  Sir 
Rowland,  who  breakfasts  with  the  family,  and  besides 
Miss  Byron  and  her  uncle  and  aunt,  three  young 
ladies  are  present. 

But  he  proceeds  at  once  to  business,  and  pleads 
the  cause  of  his  nephew  with  high-flown  compliments 
to  the  charmer — and  talking  nonsense  like  a  silly  old 
fool — which  character  he  sustains  throughout,  although 
I  believe  Richardson  intends  the  reader  to  regard  him 
as  a  kind-hearted,  generous  gentleman,  whose  whole 
soul  is  wrapped  up  in  the  happiness  of  his  nephew, 


'SIR  CHARLES   GRANDISON.'  223 

and  who  acts  as  proxy  in  the  love-making.  He  tries 
hard  to  soften  Harriet's  heart,  but  in  vain. 

"  He  met  me,  and  taking  my  not- withdrawn  hand 
and  peering  in  my  face,  'Mercy,'  said  he,  'the  same 
kind  aspect!  the  same  sweet  and  obliging  coun 
tenance  !  How  can  this  be  ?  But  you  must  be  gra 
cious  !  You  will !  Say  you  will.' 

"  '  You  must  not  urge  me,  Sir  Rowland.  You 
will  give  me  pain  if  you  lay  me  under  the  necessity 
to  repeat — ' 

u '  Repeat  what  ?  Don't  say  a  refusal.  Dear 
madam,  don't  say  a  refusal!  "Will  you  not  save  a 
life  ?  Why,  madam,  my  poor  boy  is  absolutely  and 
bond  fide  broken-hearted.  I  would  have  had  him 
come  with  me ;  but  no,  he  could  not  bear  to  leave  the 
beloved  of  his  soul !  Why,  there's  an  instance  of  love 
now !  !Not  for  all  his  hopes,  not  for  his  life's  sake, 
could  he  bear  to  tease  you  !  lS"one  of  your  fluttering 
Jack-a-dandies,  now,  wrould  have  said  this!  and  let 
not  such  succeed  where  modest  merit  fails !  Mercy ! 
you  are  struck  with  my  plea!  Don't,  don't,  God 
bless  you  now,  don't  harden  your  heart  on  my  obser 
vation.  .  .  .  Come,  come,  be  gracious !  be  merciful. 
Dear  lady,  be  as  good  as  you  look  to  be.  One  word 
of  comfort  for  my  poor  boy  ;  I  could  kneel  to  you  for 
one  word  of  comfort — nay,  I  will  kneel ; ' — taking 


224:  NOVELS  AND  NOVELISTS. 

hold  of  my  other  hand  as  he  still  held  one ;  and  down 
on  his  knees  dropped  the  honest  knight." 

The  matter  is  at  last  compromised  by  an  agree 
ment  that  Miss  Byron  is  to  call  the  old  gentleman 
Father,  and  his  nephew  Brother. 

Another  advance  of  a  very  different  stamp  is  i  Sir 
Hargrave  Pollexfen,'  a  young  baronet,  "  handsome 
and  genteel,  pretty  tall,  about  twenty-eight  or  thirty." 
He  is  a  libertine  and  a  scoundrel,  and  falls  desperate 
ly  in  love  with  Harriet  Byron,  whom  he  persecutes 
with  offers  of  marriage,  which  she  steadily  rejects. 

The  following  is  a  specimen  of  the  mode  in  which 
he  makes  love : 

"I  made  an  effort  to  go.  He  caught  my  hand 
and  arose,  then  kissed  it  and  held  it  between  both  his. 

"  ( For  God's  sake,  madam— 

"  4  Pray,  Sir  Hargrave — 

"  ;  Your  objections  ?  I  insist  upon  knowing  your 
objections.  My  person,  madam — forgive  me,  I  am  not 
used  to  boast — my  person,  madam — 

" i  Pray,  Sir  Hargrave — ' 

"  '  — Is  not  contemptible.     My  fortune — ' 

"  c  God  bless  you,  sir !  with  your  fortune.' 

" '  — Is  not  inconsiderable.     My  morals — 

"  i  Pray,  Sir  Hargrave !  why  this  enumeration  to 
me?' 


'SIR  CHARLES  GRANDISOX.'  225 

" c  — Are  as  unexceptionable  as  those  of  most 
young  men  of  fashion  in  the  present  age.' 

"  i  I  am  sorry  if  this  be  true,'  thought  I  to  myself. 
4  You  have  reason,  I  hope,  sir,  to  be  glad  of  that.' 

" £  My  descent—' 

"  •  Is  honorable,  sir,  no  doubt.' 

u  4  My  temper  is  not  bad.  I  am  thought  to  be  a 
man  of  vivacity  and  cheerfulness.  I  have  courage, 
madam — and  this  should  have  been  seen,  had  I  found 
reason  to  dread  a  competitor  in  your  favor.' ': 

At  last  Sir  Hargrave,  aided  by  the  treachery  of 
her  man-servant,  carries  Miss  Byron  off  in  her  sedan 
chair  from  a  masquerade,  to  a  house  in  Lisson  Green 
(now  Lisson  Grove),  where  he  tries  to  force  her  into  a 
marriage.  It  may  interest  female  readers  to  know 
how  she  was  dressed  for  the  ball  at  which  this  hap 
pened.  A  white  Paris  net  sort  of  cap,  glittering  with 
spangles,  and  encircled  by  artificial  flowers,  "  with  a 
little  white  feather  perking  from  the  left  ear,"  a  Yene- 
tian  mask,  tucker  and  ruffles,  and  blond  lace,  a  waist 
coat  of  blue  satin,  trimmed  with  silver  point  d'Es- 
pagne,  the  skirts  edged  with  silver  fringe,  so  as  to  sit 
close  to  the  waist  by  double  clasps,  all  set  off  with 
bugles  and  spangles,  "  which  made  a  mighty  glitter," 
a  petticoat  of  blue  satin,  trimmed  and  fringed  as  the 
waistcoat. 


226  NOVELS  AND  NOVELISTS. 

The  house  in  Lisson  Green,  to  which  Miss  Byron 
is  taken,  is  kept  by  a  widow  with  two  daughters,  who 
has  agreed  to  assist  Sir  Hargrave  in  his  project  of 
marrying  her,  but  nothing  more.  She  tells  our  hero 
ine,  "  These  young  women  are  my  daughters.  They 
are  sober  and  modest  women.  No  ruin  is  intended 
you.  One  of  the  richest  and  noblest  men  in  England 
is  your  admirer;  he  dies  for  you;  he  assures  me  that 
he  intends  honorable  marriage  to  you.  You  are  not 
engaged,  he  says,  and  you  must  and  you  shall  be 
his.  You  may  save  murder,  madam,  if  you  consent. 
He  resolves  to  be  the  deatli  of  any  lover  whom  you 
may  encourage." 

A  clergyman  now  appears  upon  the  scene,  a  de 
scription  of  whose  figure  and  appearance  I  have 
already  quoted.* 

" '  Dearly  beloved,  began  to  read  the  snuffling 
monster.  4  ICead  no  more  ! '  said  I,  and  in  my  frenzy 
dashed  the  book  out  of  the  minister's  hand,  if  a  min 
ister  he  was.  .  .  .  i  Dearly  ~belovedj  again  snuffled  the 
wretch.  O  !  my  Lucy,  I  shall  never  love  these  words. 
Sir  Hargrave  still  detained  my  struggling  hand.  I 
stamped  and  threw  myself  to  the  length  of  my  arm 
as  he  held  my  hand.  '  No  dearly  beloveds,'  said  I.  I 

*  Ante,  p.  131. 


'SIR   CHARLES  GRANDISON.'  227 

was  just  beside  myself.  What  to  say,  what  to  do,  I 
knew  not." 

The  whole  scene  is  powerfully  drawn,  and  is  one 
of  Richardson's  best.  Miss  Byron's  passionate  resist 
ance  succeeds  in  stopping  the  performance  of  the  cere 
mony,  and  Sir  Hargrave,  unable  to  accomplish  his 
purpose  of  a  forced  marriage  at  Lisson  Green,  resolves 
to  carry  her  to  a  country-house  he  has  near  Windsor, 
and  compels  her,  still  in  her  masquerade  dress,  to  ac 
company  him,  attended  by  his  servants  on  horseback, 
in  a  chariot  and  six,  with  a  handkerchief  tied  over 
her  face,  and  muffled  up  in  a  scarlet  cloak.  But  be 
yond  Hounslow  they  are  met  by  another  coach  and 
six,  and  Miss  Byron's  cries  for  help  bring  to  her  res 
cue  Sir  Charles  Grandison,  who  happens  to  be  travel 
ling  to  town.  A  scuffle  takes  place,  and  Sir  Hargrave 
Pollexfen,  who  pretends  that  he  is  conveying  a  fugi 
tive  wife,  who  was  going  to  elope  from  him  at  a 
"  damned  masquerade,"  is  flung  under  the  wheels  in 
a  dilapidated  state,  wrhile  Sir  Charles  places  the  lady 
in  his  own  carriage,  and  takes  her  to  the  house  of  his 
brother-in-law  the  Earl  of  L. 

He  has  two  sisters,  one  married,  Lady  L.,  and  the 
other  unmarried,  Miss  Charlotte  Grandison.  She  is 
meant  by  Richardson  to  be  witty  or  "  whimsical,"  as 
the  word  was  then  used,  and  sprightly,  but  her  wit 


228  NOVELS  AND  NOVELISTS. 

and  sprightliness  sound  strangely  in  the  ears  of  the 
present  generation.  Her  favorite  expressions  are 
"  deuced,"  "  deuce  take  it,"  and  "  what  a  deuce," 
and  when  she  does  marry  at  last,  she  treats  her  hus 
band  with  a  petulance  and  insult  for  which,  if  he  had 
boxed  her  ears,  instead  of  humoring  her,  one  would 
have  been  inclined  to  excuse  him. 

Harriet  Byron  falls  in  love  with  Sir  Charles 
Grandison,  and  Sir  Charles  falls  in  love  writh  her — 
or  rather  would  fall  in  love  and  declare  himself,  but 
for  an  entanglement,  owing  to  which  he  is  not  alto 
gether  a  free  man.  He  has  a  mystery  which  his  sis 
ters  have  been  unable  to  unravel,  for  it  is  connected 
with  his  absence  abroad  during  his  father's  life.  His 
father,  Sir  Thomas  Grandison,  was  a  profligate  spend 
thrift,  who,  after  the  death  of  his  wife,  seduced  the 
governess  of  his  daughter,  a  Mrs.  Oldham,  and  by 
her  he  had  two  children.  He  kept  her  at  his  country- 
house,  where  his  daughter  resided,  and  had.  another 
mistress  in  town,  WT!IO  died  of  the  small-pox,  caught 
at  the  opera,  where  she  was  taken  ill  "  on  seeing  a 
lady  of  her  acquaintance  there,  whose  face  bore  too 
strongly  the  marks  of  the  distemper."  Sir  Thomas 
behaved  like  a  brute  to  his  two  daughters,  and  for 
bade  the  eldest  to  receive  the  addresses  of  Lord  L. 
One  of  the  most  painful  scenes  in  the  story  is  that  in 


'SIR  CHARLES  GRANDISON.'  229 

which  he  summons  them  both  into  the  dining-room, 
and  commands  Caroline  to  give  up  her  lover.  He 
thus  addresses  her :  "  And  what  cries  the  girl  for  ? 
Why,  Caroline,  you  shall  have  a  husband,  I  tell  you. 
I  will  hasten  with  you  to  the  London  market.  Will 
you  be  offered  at  Raiielagh  market  first  ?  the  con 
cert  or  breakfasting  ?  or  will  I  show  you  at  the  opera 
or  at  the  play  ?  Ha,  ha,  hah  !  Hold  up  your  head, 
my  amorous  girl !  You  shall  stick  some  of  your 
mother's  jewels  in  your  hair  and  in  your  bosom,  to 
draw  the  eyes  of  fellows.  You  must  strike  at  once, 
while  your  face  is  new,  or  you  will  be  mingled  with 
the  herd  of  women  who  prostitute  their  faces  at  every 
polite  place.  Look  at  me,  Caroline." 

And  yet  Sir  Charles  Grandison,  who  knows  his 
father's  cruelty  and  worthless  character,  addresses 
him  from  abroad  as  "Dear  and  ever  honored  Sir!" 
and  after  his  death  always  speaks  of  him  in  terms  of 
affection  and  respect. 

Sir  Thomas  afterward  entered  into  a  bargain  with 
her  relations  for  the  ruin  of  a  young  Irish  girl — the 
details  of  which  nefarious  scheme  are  minutely  given 
by  Miss  Byron  in  her  letters  to  her  cousin,  Lucy  Selby 
—when  he  was  suddenly  cut  off  by  a  fever.  His  son 
then  returned  to  England,  "  the  graceful  youth  of 
seventeen,  with  fine  curling  auburn  locks  waving 


230  NOVELS  AND  NOVELISTS. 

upon  his  shoulders ;  delicate  in  complexion ;  intelli 
gence  sparkling  in  fine  free  eyes,  and  good  humor 
sweetening  his  lively  features."  When  he  first  met 
his  sisters,  " c  O  my  brother,'  said  Caroline,  with  open 
arms,  but  shrinking  from  his  embrace,  *  may  I  say  my 
brother  ? '  and  was  just  fainting.  He  clasped  her  in 
his  arms  to  support  her." 

He  astonished  his  sisters,  as  he  well  might,  by  his 
courteous  politeness  to  his  father's  late  mistress,  Mrs. 
Oldham,  in  his  own  house,  and  the  account  given  to 
Miss  Byron  of  his  generosity  and  kindness  on  the  oc 
casion,  so  overpowers  her  that  she  exclaims  to  her 
correspondent : 

"  Lord  bless  me,  my  Lucy !  what  shall  I  do  about  this 
man  ?  .  .  .  .  Here  (would  you  believe  it  ?)  I  laid  down 
my  pen,  pondered  and  wept  for  joy :  I  think  it  was 
for  joy,  that  there  is  such  a  young  man  in  the  world  ; 
for  what  else  could  it  be?  And  now,  with  a  watery 
eye,  twinkle,  twinkle,  do  I  resume  it."  And  again  : 

u  O  my  aunt !  be  so  good  as  to  let  the  servants 
prepare  my  apartments  at  Selby  House.  There  is  no 
living  within  the  blazing  glory  of  this  man." 

Of  course  such  a  phenomenon  as  Sir  Charles  is 
adored  by  the  sex.  Lady  Ann  S.,  the  only  daughter 
of  an  Earl  with  "  a  vast  fortune,"  is  in  love  with  him. 
Miss  Jervis,  a  young  girl  and  sort  of  ward  of  his,  not 


'SIR  CHARLES  GRANDISON.'  231 

sixteen  years  old,  is  unconsciously  in  love  with  him, 
and  the  Lady  Olivia,  an  Italian  whom  he  has  met 
abroad,  is  so  madly  in  love  that  she  follows  him  to 
England,  and  threatens  his  life  if  he  will  not  marry 
her!  But  he  has  another  and  more  serious  affair. 
While  in  Italy  he  had  saved  the  life  of  one  of  the 
sons  of  the  Marchese  della  Porretta,  when  he  was  at 
tacked  by  assassins,  and  this  led  to  an  intimacy  with 
the  family.  The  only  daughter  was  the  Lady  Clem 
entina,  and  she  and  Sir  Charles  Grandison  fell  in  love 
with  each  other.  But  she  was  a  Koman  Catholic  and 
he  was  a  Protestant,  and  although  passionately  de 
voted  to  him,  she  dared  not  peril  the  salvation  of  her 
soul  by  union  with  a  heretic.  I  think  that  the  Lady 
Clementina  is  the  best-drawn  character  in  Richard 
son's  novels,  but  the  interest  of  her  story  is  marred 
and  almost  destroyed  by  the  astounding  length  at 
which  it  is  drawn  out.  Sir  Charles  tries  to  overcome 
her  scruples,  and  offers  her  full  liberty  to  adhere  to 
her  own  faith,  giving  a  promise,  on  which  she  knows 
she  can  rely,  that  if  she  becomes  his  wife  he  will  make 
no  attempt  to  induce  her  to  change  her  religion ;  but 
she  feels  that  she  loves  him  too  well  not  to  fear  that 
the  force  of  his  silent  example  may  be  strong  enough 
to  win  her  over  to  his  creed.  The  conflict  be 
tween  her  passion  for  Sir  Charles  and  what  she  be- 


232  NOVELS  AND  NOVELISTS. 

lieved  to  be  her  duty  to  her  God,  overthrows  her 
reason,  and  I  know  no  author  who  has  more  finely 
touched  •  what  I  may  call  the  pathos  of  madness,  than 
Kichardson  has  in  the  scenes  where  he  describes  the 
struggles  of  her  confused  and  bewildered  intellect. 

While  she  is  in  this  state  Sir  Charles  is  summoned 
home  by  the  news  of  his  father's  death,  and  afterward 
meets  Miss  Byron  and  falls  in  love  with  her,  as  I  have 
mentioned.  But  he  is  the  soul  of  honor,  and  besides, 
still  retains  much  of  his  old  feeling  for  Lady  Clem 
entina,  In  fact,  he  is  in  a  most  perplexing  dilemma, 
beino;  in  love  with  both  ladies  at  once :  and  concciv- 

O  •  J 

ing  that,  he  is  in  duty  bound  to  give  the  Italian  anoth 
er  chance,  provided  that  she  recovers  her  intellect. 
He  therefore  leaves  Miss  Byron  in  England,  and  goes 
to  Italy  to  join  the  Porretta  family.  Before,  how 
ever,  he  goes  away,  Sir  Hargrave  Pollexfen  sends  him 
a  challenge;  but  instead  of  accepting  it,  he  invites 
himself  to  breakfast  with  the  crest-fallen  baronet,  at 
his  house  in  Cavendish  Square ;  and  we  have  a  long 
and  prosy  account  of  the  conversation  at  the  inter 
view  as  taken  down  by  a  short-hand  writer,  who  was 
summoned  and  hid  in  a  closet  for  the  purpose.  Lady 
Clementina  has  in  the  mean  time  been  restored  to  her 
senses,  and  her  love  for  Sir  Charles  burns  as  strongly 
as  ever.  But  the  old  obstacle  remains.  She  dares  not 


'SIR  CHARLES  GEAKDISOK'  233 

bring  herself  to  marry  a  Protestant,  notwithstanding 
that  her  parents  and  brothers  consent,  and  she  tries  in 
vain  to  persuade  Sir  Charles  to  become  a  Catholic. 
She,  therefore,  has  but  one  wish  left,  and  that  is  to  be 
allowed  to  enter  a  convent  and  take  the  veil.  This, 
however,  is  strongly  opposed  by  her  relatives,  who  are 
bent  upon  her  marrying  somebody,  and  an  Italian 
nobleman  is  desperately  in  love  with  her.  "Whole 
chapters  of  the  novel  are  occupied  with  the  argument 
on  both  sides,  in  which  considerable  skill  and  a  good 
deal  of  theological  knowledge  are  displayed,  at  the 
expense,  however,  of  awful  prolixity. 

As  the  lady  is  inflexible  in  her  determination  not 
to  marry  a  heretic,  and  Sir  Charles  will  not  change 
his  religion,  she  repeatedly  urges  him  to  find  an  Eng 
lish  wife,  little  thinking  at  the  moment  that  he  was 
already  more  than  half  in  love  with  another.  In  his 
heart  of  hearts,  therefore,  he  is  not  sorry  to  be  re 
leased,  and  he  leaves  Italy  ;  and  on  his  arrival  in  Eng 
land  in  true  Grandisonian  manner,  solicits  the  hand 
of  Harriet  Byron.  It  may  amuse  the  reader  to  see 
the  mode  in  which  this  mirror  of  chivalry  makes  love. 
He  pays  the  most  extravagant  compliments. 

"  *  There  seems,'  said  he,  '  to  be  a  mixture  of  gen 
erous  concern  and  kind  curiosity  in  one  of  the  loveli 
est  and  most  intelligent  faces  in  the  world.' ': 


234  NOVELS  AND  NOVELISTS. 

"  '  Thus,'  resumed  lie,  snatching  my  hand  and  ar 
dently  pressing  it  with  his  lips,  '  do  I  honor  to  myself 
for  the  honor  done  me.  How  poor  is  man,  that  he 
cannot  express  his  gratitude  to  the  object  of  his  vows 
for  obligations  confessed,  but  by  owing  to  her  new 
obligations  ! ' ;  What  a  formal  pedant  of  a  lover  ! 

"  In  a  soothing,  tender,  and  respectful  manner,  lie 
put  his  arm  round  me,  and  taking  my  own  handker 
chief,  unresisted,  wiped  away  the  tears  as  they  fell  on 
my  cheek.  f  Sweet  humanity  !  charming  sensibility  ! 
Check  not  the  kindly  gush.  Dew-drops  of  Heaven  ! 
(wiping  away  my  tears,  and  kissing  the  handkerchief,) 
dew-drops  of  Heaven,  from  a  mind  like  that  Heaven, 
mild  and  gracious.5 

"  He  kissed  my  hand  with  fervor  ;  dropped  down 
on  one  knee ;  again  kissed  it.  '  You  have  laid  me, 
madam,  under  everlasting  obligations ;  and  will  you 
permit  me  before  I  rise,  loveliest  of  women,  will  you 
permit  me  to  beg  an  early  day  ? ' ' 

"  He  clasped  me  in  his  arms  with  an  ardor  that 
displeased  me  not,  on  reflection  ;  but  at  the  time 
startled  me.  He  then  thanked  me  again  on  one  knee. 
I  held  out  the  hand  he  had  not  in  his,  with  intent  to 
raise  him ;  for  I  could  not  speak.  He  received  it  as 
a  token  of  favor ;  kissed  it  with  ardor ;  arose,  again 
pressed  my  cheek  with  his  lips.  I  was  too  much  sur- 


SIR  CHARLES  GRANDIS03T.'  235 

prised  to  repulse  him  with  anger ;  but  was  he  not  too 
free  ?  Am  I  a  prude,  my  dear  ?  " 

Yes !  Miss  Byron,  I  am  afraid  you  are  a  prude,  to 
feel  such  surprise  and  doubt  at  an  innocent  kiss  after 
a  formal  engagement. 

After  Sir  Charles  has  prevailed  over  the  coy  re 
luctance  of  Miss  Byron  to  "name  the  day,"  about 
which  she  makes  a  most  absurd  difficulty,  he  thus 
writes  to  her : 

"Receive,  dearest,  loveliest  of  women,  the  thanks 
of  a  most  grateful  heart,  for  your  invaluable  favor 
of  Wednesday  last.  Does  my  Harriet  (already,  me- 
thinks,  I  have  sunk  the  name  of  Byron  into  that  of 
Grandison),  do  Mrs.  'Shirley,  Mrs.  Selby,  think  that  I 
have  treated  one  of  the  most  delicate  of  female  minds 
indelicately  in  the  vnsh  (not  the  presumption)  I  have 
presumed  to  signify  to  the  beloved  of  my  heart,  that 
within  three  days,  after  my  permitted  return  to  North 
amptonshire,  I  may  be  allowed  to  receive  at  the  altar 
the  greatest  blessing  of  my  life  ?  I  would  not  be 
thought  ungenerous.  I  signified  my  wishes  ;  but  I 
told  you  in  the  same  letter  that  your  cheerful  com 
pliance  was  to  me  the  great  desirable.  ...  If  I  have 
not  your  commands  to  the  contrary,  Tuesday  morn 
ing,  then,  if  not  Monday  night,  shall  present  to  you 
the  most  ardent  and  sincere  of  men,  pouring  out  in 


236  NOVELS  AND  NOVELISTS. 

your  band  his  grateful  vows  for  the  invaluable  favor 
of  Wednesday's  date,  which  I  considered  in  the  sacred 
light  of  a  plighted  love,  and,  as  such,  I  have  given  it 

a  place  near  my  heart Conclude  me,  dearest 

madam,  your  most  grateful,  obliged,  and  ever  affec 
tionate 

"  CHARLES  GEANDISOX." 

It  seems  to  have  been  the  custom  for  the  bride 
groom,  after  the  ceremony  of  marriage  had  been  per 
formed,  to  wait  upon  the  bride  and  the  guests  at 
table;  and  Sir  Charles,  on  the  day  of  his  wedding, 
takes  a  napkin  from  the  butler,  and  "  was  the  modest- 
est  servitor  that  ever  waited  at  table  while  his  napkin 
was  under  his  arm ;  but  he  laid  it  down  while  he 
addressed  the  company,  finding  something  to  say  to 
each,  in  his  pithy,  agreeable  manner,  as  he  went  round 
the  table." 

The  banquet  was  followed  by  a  dance,  as  usual, 
and  the  ceremony  of  throwing  the  stocking  was,  on 
this  occasion,  dispensed  with.  "Lord  L.  undertook 
to  make  the  gentlemen  give  up  form  ;  which,  he  said, 
they  would  the  more  easily  do,  as  they  were  set  into 
dancing."  * 

*  It  was  while  Richardson  was  writing  one  ol  the  letters 
which  describes  the  wedding  that  the  incident  occurred  men 
tioned  in  his  '  Correspondence.'  He  was  seated  in  his  room  in 


'SIR   CHARLES  GRANDISON.'  237 

The  story  ought  to  have  ended  here,  but  it  is  spun 
out  to  a  considerable  length.  Lady  Clementina,  dis 
tracted  between  love  and  religion,  quits  Italy  clandes 
tinely,  and,  attended  only  by  a  page,  comes  to  Eng 
land  and  hides  herself  in  London.  At  last  Sir  Charles 
Grandison  finds  her  out,  and  her  parents  follow  her. 
They  all  go  down  to  Grandison  Hall,  where  she  is  fol 
lowed  by  the  Count  Belvedere,  the  Italian  nobleman 
who  is  in  love  with  her  and  wishes  to  make  her  his 
wife.  There  infinite  palaver  takes  place  after  formal 
"  articles  of  accommodation  "  have  been  drawn  up 
and  signed,  whereby  the  Lady  Clementina  engages  to 
give  up  all  thoughts  of  entering  a  convent ;  and  her 
parents  and  family  promise  that  they  will  u  never  with 
earnestness  endeavor  to  persuade,  much  less  compel, 
her  to  marry  any  man  whatever."  The  last  interview 
between  the  parties,  before  Lady  Clementina  leaves 
Grandison  Hall  to  return  with  her  parents  to  Italy, 

Salisbury  Square,  where  he  carried  on  his  printing  business, 
when  he  was  disturbed  by  a  loud  cry.  "  Oh !  rny  nerves,  my 
nerves  !  "  he  exclaimed,  and  rang  the  bell.  It  turned  out  that 
the  'prentices  were  "  cobbing  "  wall-eyed  Torn,  for  watering  a 
can  of  porter  after  drinking  some  of  it  himself,  for  which  he 
had  been  sent  to  the  Barley  Mow.  It  was  contrary  to  rules  to 
have  beer  in  the  office  before  noon,  but  the  pressmen  pleaded 
that  they  had  been  working  all  night  upon  '  Moore's  Almanac,' 
of  which  the  Treasurer  wanted  "ten  thousand  perfect,  a  week 
before  publishing  day."  and  they  required  some  refreshment. 


238  NOVELS  AND  NOVELISTS. 

takes  place  in  the  garden — present,  Sir  Charles,  Lady 
Grandison,  and  the  Lady  Clementina. 

"  When  we  saw  Sir  Charles  enter  the  garden  we 
stood  still,  arm  in  arm,  expecting  and  inviting  his  ap 
proach.  i  Sweet  sisters  !  lovely  friends  ! '  said  he, 
when  he  came  up  to  us,  taking  a  hand  of  each  and 
joining  them,  bowing  on  both ;  c  let  me  mark  this 
blessed  spot  with  my  eye,'  looking  round  him,  then  on 
me.  'A  tear  on  my  Harriet's  cheek ! '  He  dried  it 
off  with  his  own  handkerchief.  '  Friendship,  dearest 
creatures,  will  make  at  pleasure  a  safe  bridge  over  the 
narrow  seas.  .  .  Kindred  souls  are  always  near.' 
.  .  .  .  *  Promise  me  again,'  said  the  noble  lady.  c  I, 
too,  have  marked  the  spot  with  my  eye '  (standing 
still,  as  Sir  Charles  had  done,  looking  round  her). 
c  The  orangery  on  the  right  hand  ;  that  distant  clump 
of  oaklings  on  the  left ;  the  villa,  the  rivulet  before 
us ;  the  cascade  in  view ;  that  obelisk  behind  us.  Be 
this  the  spot  to  be  recollected  as  witness  to  the  prom 
ise  '  (that  the  Grandisons  will  visit  her  in  Italy)  c  when 
we  are  far,  far  distant  from  each  other.' 

"  TVe  both  repeated  the  promise ;  and  Sir  Charles 
said  (and  he  is  drawing  a  plan  accordingly)  that  a  lit 
tle  temple  should  be  erected  on  that  little  spot,  to  be 
consecrated  to  our  friendship ;  and  since  she  had  so 
happily  marked  it,  to  be  called  after  her  name." 


A  TERMAGANT   WIFE.  239 

There  only  remains  to  add  that  Sir  Hargrave  Pol- 
lexfen  dies  a  penitent  sinner,  and  leaves  by  his  will  a 
very  large  legacy  to  Lady  Grandison,  and  another  to 
Sir  Charles,  whom  he  had  made  his  sole  executor. 

Miss  Grandison,  Sir  Charles's  sister,  is  intended  to 
be  sprightly  and  witty ;  but  Richardson  had  no  con 
ception  of  either  sprightliness  or  wit ;  and  as  to  hu 
mor,  he  had  not  a  particle  of  it  in  his  composition. 
I  will  give  one  or  two  specimens  of  her  talk. 

"  Harriet. — My  lord  is  nothing  to  me.  I  have  an 
swered.  I  have  given  my  negative. 

"  Miss  Grandison. — The  deuce  you  have !  Why 
the  man  has  a  good  £12,000  a  year. 

"  Harriet. — I  don't  care. 

"  Miss  G. — What  a  deuce  ails  the  girl  ? 

"  Then  humorously  telling  on  her  fingers — c  Orme, 
one ;  Fenwick,  two  ;  Greville,  three  ;  Fowler,  four  : 
—I  want  another  finger  ;  but  I'll  take  in  my  thumb — 
Sir  Hargrave,  five ;  and  now  '  (putting  the  forefinger 
of  one  hand  on  the  thumb  of  the  other),  '  Lord  D., 
six !  And  none  of  them  the  man  ! — Depend  upon  it, 
girl,  pride  will  have  a  fall.' " 

Two  days  after  marriage  Charlotte  quarrels  with 
her  husband,  and  concludes  a  note  to  Miss  Byron 
thus  :  "  Hang  me,  if  I  sign  by  any  other  name  while 
this  man  is  in  his  fits  than  that  of  CHARLOTTE  GRAN- 


240  NOVELS  AND  NOVELISTS. 

DISOX."  Certainly  no  oilier  husband  would  have  put 
up  with  such  disgusting  petulance  as  she  showed, 
which  Richardson  designed  as  a  proof  of  her  "  humor 
ous  "  character.  Her  husband  makes  her  a  present  of 
some  old  china,  "  And  when  he  had  done,"  says  his 
wife,  "  taking  the  liberty  as  he  phrased  it,  half  fearful, 
half  resolute,  to  salute  his  bride  for  his  reward,  and 
then  pacing  backward  several  steps  with  such  a  strut 
and  crow — I  see  him  yet — indulge  me,  Harriet !  I 
burst  into  a  hearty  laugh ;  I  could  not  help  it ;  and 
he  reddening  looked  round  himself  and  round  himself 
to  see  if  any  thing  was  amiss  on  his  part.  c  The  man, 
the  man,  honest  friend,'  I  could  have  said,  but  had 
too  much  reverence  for  my  husband,  c  is  the  oddity ! 
nothing  amiss  in  the  garb.'  r  And  when  to  play  him 
a  trick,  or  as  she  says,  to  give  him  a  hint,  she  pins  her 
apron  to  his  coat  and  the  apron  is  torn,  she  calls  out, 
"  You  are  always  squatting  upon  one's  clothes  in  de 
fiance  of  hoop  or  distance." 

We  must  not,  however,  suppose  that  the  style  of 
conversation  which  Richardson  puts  into  the  mouths 
of  his  characters  in  <  Sir  Charles  Grandison,'  represents 
the  style  prevalent  in  his  time  among  the  higher 
classes  of  society.  Of  this  he  knew  personally  little 
or  nothing,  and  he  must  have  consequently  evolved  it, 
in  the  same  way  that  the  German  writer  is  said  to 


RICHARDSON'S  STYLE. 

have  evolved  his  description  of  a  camel,  "  from  liis 
own  consciousness."  '  Cooped  up  in  a  small  room  in 
Salisbury  Court  during  the  day,  and  spending  his 
evenings  and  holidays  at  Parson's  Green,  he  was  not 
likely  to  have  many  opportunities  of  seeing  fashion 
able  life,  and  he  was  much  more  at  home  in  writing 
the  letters  of  a  servant-girl  like  Pamela,  or  of  a  young 
lady  of  the  middle  class  like  Clarissa  Harlowe,  than 
in  imitating  the  language  and  describing  the  manners 

of  Charlotte  Grandison  and  her  sister.  Lady  L . 

The  last  specimen  I  will  give  of  Richardson's 
style  is  the  scene  in  which  Miss  Byron  relates  her 
meeting  with  her  despairing  lover,  Mr.  Orme,  on  her 
way  home  from  town.  "  Mr.  Orme,  good  Mr.  Orme, 
when  we  came  near  his  park,  was  on  the  highway 
side.  Perhaps  near  the  very  spot  where  he  stood  to 
see  me  pass  to  London  so  many  weeks  ago.  Poor 
man  !  when  I  first  saw  him  he  looked  with  so  discon 
solate  an  air  and  so  fixed,  that  I  compassionately  said 
to  myself,  '  Sure]y  the  worthy  man  has  not  been  there 
ever  since ! ' 

*  "  I  am  apt  to  conceive,  that  one  reason  why  many  English 
writers  have  totally  failed  in  describing  the  manners  of  upper 
life,  may  possibly  be  that  in  reality  they  know  nothing  of  it. 
....  A  true  knowledge  of  the  world  is  gained  only  by  con 
versation,  and  the  manners  of  every  rank  must  be  seen  in  order 
to  be  known." — Fielding  in  '  Tom  Jones,'  book  xiv.  chap.  1. 
11 


242  NOVELS  AND  NOVELISTS. 

"I  twitched  the  string  just  in  time:  the  coach 
stopped.  '  Mr.  Orme,'  I  said,  i  how  do  you  ?  "Well, 
I  hope  ?  How  does  Miss  Orme  ? ' 

"  I  laid  my  hand  on  the  coach-door.  He  snatched 
it.  It  was  not  an  unwilling  hand.  .  He  pressed  it 
with  his  lips.  c  God  he  praised,'  said  he  (with  a  coun 
tenance,  O  !  how  altered  for  the  "better ! )  i  for  permit- 
ing  me  once  more  to  behold  that  face — that  angelic 
face  ! '  he  said. 

"  c  God  bless  yon  !  Mr.  Orme,'  said  I,  '  I  am  glad 
to  see  you.  Adieu.' ': 

Richardson  intended  this  as  serious  sentiment ; 
but  the  scene  is,  I  think,  rather  comic  than  serious. 
The  poor  rejected  lover  stands,  and  may  have  stood 
for  weeks,  behind  his  park  palings  watching  for  the 
carriage,  and  then  when  it  comes  up  thanks  Heaven 
for  allowing  him  to  see  the  angelic  creature  whom  he 
knows  it  is  in  .vain  to  adore. 

I  have  heard  Sir  Charles  Grandison  called  a  "  sol 
emn  fop ; "  but,  I  think,  this  is  to  mistake  his  real 
character.  Solemn,  enough  he  is  beyond  all  doubt, 
but  there  is  nothing  foppish  in  his  manner  or  talk. 
It  is  true  that  one  feels  often  inclined  to  kick  him ; 
but  this  is  because  one  feels  bored  by  his  overstrained 
courtesy  and  elaborate  politeness.*  He  is  too  much 

*  In  his  '  Sketches  by  Boz,'  Dickens  describes  Mr.  Watkins 


A  FRENCH  CRITICISM.  243 

of  a  paragon — too  much  praised  by  everybody.  We 
sympathize  with  the  man  who  was  tired  of  always 
hearing  Aristides  called  the  Just ;  and  we  sympathize 
with  Harriet  Byron,  who  when  she  was  in  love  with 
Sir  Charles  was  half  inclined  to  wish  that  he  were 
not  such  an  angel.  "  A  most  intolerable  superiority  ! 
I  wish  he  could  do  something  wrong;  something 
cruel ;  if  he  would  but  bear  malice,  would  but  stiffen 
his  air  by  resentment,  it  would  be  something."  He  is 
worshipped  by  his  two  sisters,  with  an  idolatry  which 
is  a] most  childish,  and  we  are  cloyed  by  the  treacle 
of  their  panegyrics  and  compliments. 

u  O  my  brother  !  O  my  brother  !  said  both  ladies 
at  one  time — half  in  admiration,  though  half  con 
cerned,  at  a  goodness  so  eclipsing." 

"  You,  my  brother,  who  in  my  eye  are  the  first 
of  men,  must  not  let  me  have  cause  to  dread  that  your 
Caroline  is  sunk  in  yours." 

M.  Taine  says,  and  I  agree  with  him,  "  Nothing  is 
so  insipid  as  an  instructive  hero.  This  one  is  as  cor 
rect  as  an  automaton  ;  he  passes  his  life  in  weighing 
his  duties  and  making  salutations.  .  .  .  He  is  great, 
lie  is  generous,  lie  is  delicate,  he  is  pious,  he  is  irre- 

Tottle  as  having  "  a  cloau-cravatisli  formality  of  manner,  and  a 
kitchen-pokerness  of  carriage,  which  Sir  Charles  Grandison 
himself  might  have  envied." 


NOVELS  AND  NOVELISTS. 

proachable,  lie  lias  never  done  a  dirty  action  nor  made 
a  false  step.  His  conscience  and  his  periwig  are  in 
tact.  Amen.  We  must  canonize  him,  and  stuff  him 
with  straw."  * 

The  abduction  of  Harriet  Byron  by  Sir  Hargrave 
Pollexfen  is  a  fiction,  but  in  those  times  such  an  ad 
venture  might  easily  have  happened.  At  an  earlier 
period  in  France,  it  did  befall  a  once  celebrated  lady, 
Madame  de  Miramion,  who  for  her  piety  was  entitled 
by  Madame  de  Sevigne  "  one  of  the  mothers  of  the 
church,"  and  whose  benevolence  and  charity  made  the 
Due  de  St.  Simon  say  that  "  her  death  was  considered 
a  public  loss."  f 

*  *  Histoire  de  la  Literature  Anglaise,'  vol.  iii.  299-302.  I 
have  before  me  a  curious  pamphlet,  published  in  1754,  aud 
styled  *  A  candid  examination  of  the  History .  of  Sir  Charles 
Grandison  in  a  Letter  to  a  Lady  of  Distinction.'  The  writer 
complains  of  the  length  of  the  novel  and  its  enhanced  price, 

"as  if  Mr.  R n  began  to  consider  himself  as  a  bookseller  as 

well  as  an  author."  The  criticism  of  the  novel  is  not  worth 
much,  and  need  not  be  quoted  ;  but  such  a  passage  as  the  fol 
lowing  would  be  thought  strange  in  a  letter  addressed  nowa 
days  to  a  Lady  of  Distinction  :  "  "I  think  Mr.  E n  makes  a 

great  deal  too  much  of  the  terrible  apprehensions  of  matrimony, 
and  of  Miss  Byron's  almost  fainting,  dying :  but  as  I  hear,  your 
ladyship  felt  something  of  these  palpitations  on  the  approach 
of  the  awful  day,  the  solemn  rite,  the  fearful  night,  I  must  not 
take  the  liberty  to  be  so  full  as  I  should  be  on  this  occasion." 

t  The  story  is  told  in  the  '  Life  of  Madame  de  Miramion,' 
by  M.  Bonneau,  edited  by  Lady  Herbert. 


RICHARDSON'S   CORRESPONDENCE.  245 

The  scene,  also,  of  the  attempt  to  force  Miss  By 
ron  into  a  marriage  at  Lisson  Green  very  much  resem 
bles  what  actually  occurred  in  Ireland  in  the  last  cen 
tury,  when  a  Miss  McDermott  was  carried  off  by  Mr. 
Flinn,  who  tried  to  compel  her  to  marry  him  in  a  way 
side  cabin.  The  story  is  told  by  Mrs.  Delany,  as  re 
lated  to  her  by  Miss  McDermott  herself:  *  "Finding 
she  was  resolute  in  not  complying  with  his  request, 
but  vehemently  asserted  that  she  would  rather  die 
than  be  united  to  such  a  monster,  on  their  laying  hold 
of  her  to  put  the  ring  on  her  finger,  she  threw  it  off 
while  the  priest  was  muttering  over  the  marriage 
ceremony,  and  springing  from  them,  snatched  up  a 
mug  of  milk  which  she  had  accidentally  laid  her  eyes 
on,  standing  by  the  fire,  and  threw  it  full  in  the 
priest's  face."  Happily  the  lady  was  rescued  from  the 
ruffians  after  having  been  badly  wounded,  and  plunged 
in  a  bog  up  to  her  shoulders  in  mud. 

It  is  very  curious  and  amusing  to  read  '  Eichard- 
son's  Correspondence,'  in  six  volumes,  and  see  the 
old  gentleman,  in  his  house  at  North  End,  Hammer 
smith,  or  Parson's  Green,  between  Chelsea  and  Ful- 
ham,  writing  to  and  receiving  letters  from  ladies — 
"  my  ladies,"  as  he  calls  them,  or  "  dear  girls  " — who 
smother  him  with  compliments,  and  interest  them- 

*  '  Mrs.  Delany's  Autobiography,'  vol.  iii.  p.  348. 


246  NOVELS  AND   NOVELISTS. 

selves  about  the  fate  of  liis  heroes  and  heroines,  Sir 
Charles  Grandison,  Harriet  Byron,  and  Clarissa  Har- 
lo\ve,  as  if  they  were  friends  and  acquaintances.  But 
among  his  correspondents  is  Colley  Cibber,  who  makes 
himself  a  conspicuous  ass.  He  writes  to  Richardson, 
in  1748,  and  prays  that  the  Lord  grant  he  may  be 
disappointed  in  his  apprehension  of  meeting,  in  the 
course  of  the  story  of  '  Clarissa,'  something  to  dis 
please  him.  "  O  Lord,  Lord  !  can  there  be  any  thing 
yet  to  come  that  will  trouble  this  smooth  stream  of 
pleasure  I  am  bathing  in  ?  But  the  book  again  lies 
open  before  me.  I  have  just  finished  this  letter  of 
Miss  Howe's"  (Clarissa's  correspondent);  "with  that 
charming  chicken's  neck  at  the  end  of  it.  What  a 
mixture  of  lively  humor,  good  sense,  and  wanton  wil- 
fulness,  does  she  conclude  it  with  !  How  will  you  be 
able  to  support  this  spirit  ?  "  Again,  "  Ah  !  ah  !  you 
may  laugh  if  you  please ;  but  how  will  you  be  able  to 
look  me  in  the  face  if  the  lady  "  (Clarissa)  "  should  ever 

be  able  to  show  Tiers  again  ?     What  piteous,  d -d 

disgraceful  pickle  have  you  placed  her  in  ?  For  God's 
sake  send  me  the  sequel,  or — I  don't  know  what  to 
say  !  .  .  .  My  girls  are  all  on  fire  and  fright  to  know 
what  can  possibly  have  become  of  her.  Take  care. 
If  you  have  betrayed  her  into  any  shocking  company, 
you  will  be  as  accountable  for  it  as  if  you  were  your- 


CHARACTER   OF   'LOVELACE.'  34.7 

self  the  monster  that  took  delight  in  her  calamity." 
In  1750,  he  writes,  with  disgusting  levity:  "Though 
Death  lias  been  cooling  his  heels  at  my  door  these 
three  weeks,  I  have  not  had  time  to  see  him.  ...  If 
you  have  a  mind  to  make  one  among  us,  I  will  order 
Death  to  come  another  day.  To  be  serious,  I  long- 
to  see  you,  and  hope  you  will  take  the  first  opportu 
nity.*'  In  1753  :  "  The  delicious  meal  I  made  of  Miss 
Byron  on  Sunday  last,  has  given  me  an  appetite  for 
another  slice  of  her,  off  from  the  spit,  before  she  is 
served  up  for  the  public  table.  If  about  five  o'clock 
to-morrow  afternoon  will  not  be  inconvenient,  Mrs. 
Brown  and  I  will  come  and  piddle  upon  a  bit  more 
of  her."  He  raved  when  he  heard  that  Clarissa  was 
destined  to  have  an  unhappy  end,  and  said,  "  God 

d n  him,  if  she  should  !  " 

Dr.  Young,  the  author  of  the  '  jS"ight  Thoughts,' 
approved  of  the  portrait  of  the  scoundrel  libertine 
Lovelace,  on  account  of  its  fidelity,  but  we  should 
hardly  expect  the  following  criticism  from  a  divine : 
uBe  not  concerned  about  Lovelace!  'tis  the  likeness, 
not  the  morality  of  a  character,  we  call  for.  A  sign 
post  angel  can  by  no  means  come  into  competition 
with  the  devils  of  Michael  Ano-elo."  And  as^ain : 

o  o 

''Believe  me,  Christians  of  taste  will  applaud  your 
plan,  and  they  who  themselves  would  act  Lovelace's 


248  NOVELS  AND  NOVELISTS. 

part,  will  find  the  greatest  fault  with  it."  But  Rich- 
ardson  himself  seems  to  have  had  a  more  just  idea  of 
the  character  he  was  drawing.  He  answers  one  of 
Dr.  Young's  letters  with  a  promise  to  send  two  more 
of  his  volumes,  and  adds :  "  Miss  Lee  may  venture  (if 
you  and  she  have  patience)  to  read  these  two  to  you. 
But  Lovelace  afterward  is  so  vile  a  fellow,  that  if  I 
publish  any  more  (so  much  have  some  hypercritics 
put  me  out  of  conceit  with  my  work)  I  doubt  whether 
she,  of  whose  delicacy  I  have  the  highest  opinion,  can 
see  it  as  from  you  or  me."  Dr.  Young  assured  him, 
after  the  appearance  of  '  Sir  Charles  Grandison,'  that 
he  looked  upon  him  "  as  an  instrument  of  Provi 
dence."  In  one  of  the  letters  to  Richardson,  the 
writer,  after  mentioning  that  a  lady  of  very  high  rank 
(but  bad  character)  had  declared  that  Lovelace  was  a 
charming  young  fellow,  and  owned  that  she  liked  him 
excessively,  says  that  the  anecdote  is  an  instance  of 
what  "you  have  reason  to  say  you  too  often  meet 
with,  namely,  the  fondness  most  women  have  for  the 
character  of  Lovelace." 

As  to  the  ladies,  they  could  hardly  find  words 
strong  enough  to  express  their  admiration  of  the 
novels.  Miss  Fielding,  in  1749,  wrote  of  c  Clarissa ' 
to  the  author :  "  "When  I  read  of  her  I  am  all  sensa 
tion  ;  my  heart  glows.  I  am  overwhelmed,  my  only 


RICHARDSON"  AND  THE  LADIES.  249 

vent  is  tears,  and  unless  tears  could  mark  my  thoughts 
as  legibly  as  ink,  I  cannot  speak  half  I  feel."  Miss 
Collier  said  that  her  "good  old  folks"  believed  both 
*  Clarissa '  and  ;  Sir  Charles '  to  be  real  stories,  and  no 
work  of  imagination,  and  she  did  not  care  to  unde 
ceive  them.  Poor  Mrs.  Pilkington,  who  was  reduced 
so  low  as  to  be  obliged  to  issue  the  following  adver 
tisement — "  At  the  sign  of  the  Dove  in  Great  White 
Lion  Street,  near  the  Seven  Dials,  letters  are  written 
on  any  subject  (except  the  law)  by  Letitia  Pilkington, 
price  one  shilling " — prayed  Richardson  to  save  Cla 
rissa  from  dishonor :  "  Spare  her  virgin  purity,  dear 
sir,  spare  it !  Consider  if  this  wounds  both  Mr.  Cib- 
ber  and  me  (who  neither  of  us  set  up  for  immaculate 
chastity),  what  must  it  do  with  those  who  possess  that 
inestimable  treasure  ?  " 

In  a  letter  written  in  1750,  Eichardson  says  that 
he  had  just  had  a  breakfast  visit  at  North  End,  from 
two  very  worthy  ladies  recommended  by  Mrs.  Delany, 
who  were  both  extremely  earnest  with  him  to  give 
them  a  good  man,  that  is,  draw  a  good  character, 
and  he  asks  the  young  lady  who  is  his  correspondent : 
"  How  can  we  hope  that  ladies  will  not  think  a  good 
man  a  tame  man  ?  " 

Among  the  correspondents  of  Eichardson  was 
Klopstock's  first  wife,  who  lived  at  Hamburg,  and 


250  NOVELS  AND  NOVELISTS. 

wrote  very  good  English.  She  gives  an  account  of 
how  she  fell-  in  love  with  the  poet  on  reading  his 
6  Messiah,'  before  she  ever  saw  him,  how  she  after 
ward  married  him,  and  how  happy  she  was.  Poor 
thing !  her  last  letter  expresses  her  joy  in  the  prospect 
of  becoming  a  mother,  and  then  comes  another  from 
a  stranger,  dated  a  wreek  later,  telling  him  that  Mrs. 
Klopstock  had  just  died  "  in  a  very  dreadful  manner  " 
in  childbed.* 

But  all  these  ladies  are  eclipsed  by  Lady  Brad- 
shaigh,  who,  under  the  name  of  Belfour,  carried  on 
a  long  correspondence  with  Richardson,  which  be- 
gan  in  the  following  manner  :  A  lady  calling  herself 
Belfour,  after  reading  the  first  four  volumes  of  c  Cla 
rissa,'  which  came  out  in  parts,  wrrote  to  him,  in  1748, 
telling  him  that  a  report  prevailed  that  the  history  of 
Clarissa  was  to  end  in  a  most  tragical  manner,  and 
expressing  her  abhorrence  of  such  a  catastrophe,  she 
begged  to  be  satisfied  of  the  truth  by  a  few  lines 
inserted  in  the  '  Whitehall  Evening  Post.'  This  led 
to  the  letters  which  passed  between  them,  and  very 
curious  they  are.  I  can  only  give  a  few  extracts, 
which  will  be  enough  to  show  the  earnestness  of 

*  When  I  was  at  Altona,  I  read  on  Klopstock's  tonib,  a  copy 
of  verses  addressed  by  his  second  wife  to  the  memory  of  the 
first. 


KICHABDSON  AND  LADY  BKADSHAIGH.      251 

the  lady  in  pleading  for  a  happy  conclusion  to 
'  Clarissa : ' 

"  You  must  know  (though  I  shall  blush  again) 
that  if  I  was  to  die  for  it,  I  cannot  help  being  fond 
of  Lovelace.  A  sad  dog  !  why  would  you  make  him 
so  wicked  and  yet  so  agreeable  ?  ...  If  you  disap 
point  me,  attend  to  my  curse :  May  the  hatred  of  all 
the  young,  beautiful,  and  virtuous,  forever  be  your 
portion  !  and  may  your  eyes  never  behold  any  thing 
but  age  and  deformity !  May  you  meet  with  ap 
plause  only  from  envious  old  maids,  surly  bachelors, 
and  tyrannical  parents  !  May  you  be  doomed  to  the 
company  of  such,  and  after  death  may  their  ugly 
souls  haunt  you ! 

"JSTow  make  Lovelace  and  Clarissa  unhappy  if 
you  dare ! " 

"  Do,  dear  sir  (it  is  too  shocking  and  barbarous  a 
story  for  publication — I  wish  I  could  not  think  of  it), 
blot  out  but  one  night,  and  the  villanous  laudanum, 
and  all  may  be  well  again.  ...  I  am  as  mad  as  the 
poor  injured  Clarissa,  and  am  afraid  I  cannot  help 
hating  you,  if  you  alter  not  your  scheme." 

"  When  alone,  in  agonies  would  I  lay  down  the 
book,  take  it  up  again,  walk  about  the  room,  let  fall 
a  flood  of  tears,  wipe  my  eyes,  read  again,  perhaps 
not  three  lines,  throw  away  the  book,  crying  out, 


252  NOVELS  AND  NOVELISTS. 

Excuse  me,  good  Mr.  Richardson,  I  cannot  go  on  ;  it 
is  your  fault,  you  have  done  more  than  I  can  bear.'5 

"  A  lady  was  reading  to  two  or  three  others  the 
seventh  volume  of  i  Clarissa,'  while  her  maid  curled 
her  hair,  and  the  poor  girl  let  fall  such  a  shower  of 
tears  upon  her  lady's  head  that  she  was  forced  to  send 
her  out  of  the  room  to  compose  herself,  asking  her 
what  she  cried  for.  She  said,  to  see  such  goodness 
and  innocence  in  distress ;  and  the  lady  followed  her 
out  of  the  room,  and  gave  her  a  crown  for  that  an 
swer." 

These  passages  will  give  some  idea  of  the  extraor 
dinary  interest  which  Richardson's  novels  excited  in 
the  hearts  of  the  fair  sex,  and  the  way  in  which  they 
made  the  woes  of  Clarissa  their  own. 

Lady  Bradshaigh  kept  up  for  along  time  her  in 
cognita  of  Belfour,  and  many  were  the  contrivances 
which  she  and  Richardson  adopted,  she  to  see  him 
without  being  known,  and  he  to  discover  his  admirer. 
He  walked  in  the  Park,  "  up  the  Mall  and  down  the 
Mall,"  having  sent  her  a  description  of  himself  which 
I  will  quote  by-and-by,  and  hoping  that  she  would  re 
veal  herself,  as  she  said  that  she  would  look  for  him 
in  the  Park.  She  once  ventured  to  go  to  Salisbury 
Court,  where  he  carried  on  his  business  of  a  printer, 
and  got  as  far  as  his  door,  when  her  courage  failed 


PORTRAIT  OF  RICHARDSON.  253 

her.  At  last  she  wrote  in  her  real  name,  and  told 
him  that  she  had  walked  for  an  hour  in  the  Park,  in 
the  vain  hope  of  seeing  him,  and  would  try  her  for 
tune  again  next  Saturday.  Then  comes  a  letter  tell 
ing  him  that  her  curiosity  was  satisfied  as  to  a  distant 
view,  "  I  passed  you  four  times  last  Saturday  in  the 
Park ;  knew  you  by  your  own  description  at  least 
three  hundred  yards  off;  walking  in  the  Park  be 
tween  the  trees  and  the  Mall.  .  .  .  You  looked  at  me 
every  time  we  passed,  but  I  put  on  so  unconcerned  a 
countenance,  that  I  am  almost  sure  I  deceived  you." 
She  feared  that  she  would  find  something  in  his  per 
son  stern  and  awful,  but  it  turned  out  "  quite  the  con 
trary."  The  comical  pair,  however,  at  last  put  an 
end  to  this  game  of  hide  and  seek,  and  Lady  Brad- 
shaigh  made  the  personal  acquaintance  of  the  author 
who  had  so  bewitched  her. 

Let  us  now  see  what  manner  of  man  in  the  flesh 
this  petted  and  spoiled  favorite  of  the  ladies  was.  He 
has  twice  given  us  his  own  portrait,  and  described 
himself  to  the  life.  First  as  he  walks  on  the  pantiles 
at  Tunbridge  "Wells.  "  A  sly  sinner,  creeping  along 
the  very  edges  of  the  walks,  getting  behind  benches  ; 
one  hand  in  his  bosom,  the  other  held  up  to  his  chin, 
as  if  to  keep  it  in  its  place ;  afraid  of  being  seen  #s  a 
thief  of  detection  .  .  stealing  in  and  out  of  the 


254:  NOVELS  AND  NOVELISTS. 

bookseller's  shop,  as  if  he  had  one  of  their  glass-cases 
under  his  coat.     Come  and  see  this  odd  figure !  "  * 

And  at  a  later  period  in  St.  James's  Park : 
"  Short,  rather  plump  than  emaciated,  notwithstand 
ing  his  complaints ;  about  five  feet  five  inches ;  fair 
wig,  lightish  cloth  coat,  all  black  besides ;  one  hand 
generally  in  his  bosom,  the  other  a  cane  in  it,  which 
he  leans  upon  under  the  skirts  of  his  coat  usually 
....  of  a  light-brown  complexion,  teeth  not  yet 
failing  him,  smoothish  face  and  ruddy  cheeked;  at 
some  times  looking  to  be  almost  sixty-five,  at  other 
times  much  younger,  a  regular  even  pace,  stealing 
away  ground  rather  than  seeming  to  rid  it ;  a  gray 
eye  too  often  overclouded  by  mistiness  from  the  head ; 
by  chance  lively — very  lively  it  will  be  if  he  have 
hopes  of  seeing  a  lady  whom  he  loves  and  honors ;  his 
eye  always  on  the  ladies ;  if  they  have  very  large 
hoops  he  looks  down  and  supercilious,  and  as  if  he 
would  be  thought  wise,  but  perhaps  the  sillier  for 
that."  f  Yes,  we  see  the  sentimental  little  prig  be 
fore  us  to  the  life,  with  his  head  turned  by  all  the 
compliments  paid  to  him  by  the  ladies,  and  thinking 
that  every  woman  whom  he  meets  is  conscious  that 
she  looks  upon  the  author  of  c  Clarissa  Harlowe  '  and 
c  Sir  Charles  Grandison.' 

*  Correspondence  of  Richardson,  vol.  ii.  p.  206. 
t  Ibid.  vol.  iv.  p.  290. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

FIELDING.—  'TOM    JONES,1    A    FAVORITE    OF    THE    LADIES.—  '  JOSEPH 
ANDREWS.1—'  AMELIA.' 


now  turn  to  a  very  different  school  of  thought 
and  a  very  different  style  of  novels.  We  leave  the 
sick-room  for  the  open  common. 

A  lady  once  asked  me  why  she  might  not  read 
'  Tom  Jones.'  It  seemed  hard,  she  thought,  that  so 
famous  a  work  which  was  praised  by  everybody  —  that 
is,  by  every  man  who  had  read  it—  should  remain  a 
sealed  book  to  her  ;  and  she  inquired  whether  I  could 
not  give  her  an  idea  of  its  merits  and  an  inkling  of 
the  story  without  sinning  against  decorum.  The 
question  was  a  delicate  one,  and  I  cannot  pretend  that 
I  answered  it  satisfactorily.  The  truth  is,  that  it  would 
be  impossible  to  give  an  analysis  of  the  novel,  or  even 
describe  the  plot  except  in  the  most  meagre  terms, 
without  offending  against  the  respect  due  to  female 
delicacy  now.  And  such  a  description  as  could  be 
given  salvo  pudore  would  be  worthless.  It  would  be 
like  producing  a  bony  skeleton  as  the  representative 


256  NOVELS  AND  NOVELISTS. 

of  the  human  form.  What  idea  would  a  listener  have 
of  the  mirth  and  fun  and  fulness  of  life  in  l  Tom 
Jones,'  if  he  were  merely  told  that  it  is  the  story  of  a 
young  man,  a  foundling,  brought  up  as  a  dependent 
in  a  gentleman's  family,  who  falls  in  love  with  Sophia, 
the  daughter  of  Squire  Western,  and  with  whom  Miss 
Western  falls  in  love,  running  after  him  from  place  to 
place,  accompanied  only  by  her  maid  j  who  is  exposed 
to  the  mean  hatred  of  a  wretch  called  Blifil,  the 
nephew  of  an  excellent  gentleman  named  Allworthy, 
who  befriends  Tom  until  his  patience  is  exhausted  by 
the  tales  he  hears  of  his  unworthy  conduct ;  and  who, 
after  many  vicissitudes  of  fortune  and  many  divert 
ing  but  wicked  scrapes,  is  discovered  at  last  to  be  the 
natural  son  of  Mr.  Allworthy's  maiden  sister;  and 
Blifil's  villany  being  now  exposed  and  discomfited,  is 
made  Mr.  Allworthy's  heir,  and  marries  the  fair  So 
phia  ?  And  yet  this  is  the  main  plot  of  the  story,  or 
at  all  events  it  was  all  I  could  tell  my  inquirer.  But 
her  grandmother,  no  doubt,  had  read  <  Tom  Jones,5 
and  was  as  modest  and  virtuous  a  lady  as  herself. * 

*  Mrs.  Delany  says  in  one  of  her  letters  (1749)  :  "  Unluckily 
for  '  Gaudentio,' "  a  book  attributed  to  Bishop  Berkeley,  "  I  had 
just  been  reading  '  Clarissa,'  and  it  must  have  been  an  extraor 
dinary  book  that  would  have  been  relished  after  that !  '  Tom 
Jones '  in  his  married  state,  is  a  poor  thing,  and  not  written  by 
Fielding." 


'TOM  JONES.'  257 

Lady  Bradshaigh,  writing  to  Richardson  in  1749, 
says  :  "As  to  c  Tom  Jones,'  I  am  fatigued  with,  the 
name,  having  lately  fallen  into  the  company  of  several 
young  ladies  who  had  each  a  '  Tom  Jones ;  in  some 
part  of  the  world,  for  so  they  called  their  favorites  ; 
and  ladies,  you  know,  are  ever  talking  of  their  favor 
ites.  Last  post  I  received  a  letter  from  a  lady  who 
laments  the  loss  of  her  '  Tom  Jones  ; '  and  from  an 
other  who  was  happy  in  the  company  of  her  '  Tom 
Jones.' '  And  again  :  "  The  girls  are  certainly  fond 
of  '  Tom  Jones,'  as  I  told  you  before ;  and  they  do 
not  scruple  declaring  it  in  the  presence  of  your  incog 
nita."- 

AVe  cannot  but  regret  that  the  coarseness  of  the 
age,  and  his  own  natural  instincts,  led  Fielding  to 
choose  for  the  hero  of  his  novel  a  young  libertine, 
whose  adventures  are  only  fit  for  the  ale-house  or  a 
worse  place  ;  while  he  has  lavished  upon  it  a  skill  of 
construction  and  artistic  development  of  plot  such  as 
have  never  been  surpassed.  In  these  respects  it  well 
deserves  the  title  of  a  prose  epic.  Coleridge  says : 
"  Upon  my  word,  I  think  the  £  (Edipus  Tyrannus,' 
'The  Alchymist,'  and  'Tom  Jones,'  the  three  most 
perfect  plots  ever  planned."  *  But  the  coarseness 
and  licentiousness  in  which  it  abounds  admit  of  no 
*  '  Table  Talk,'  p.  332. 


258  NOVELS  AND   NOVELISTS. 

defence,  however  much  some  writers  may  say  the  con 
trary. 

"If  lowsie  is  Lucy  as  some  volke  miscall  it, 
Then  Lucy  is  lowsie  whatever  befall  it." 

It  is  all  very  well  for  Charles  Lamb  to  say  that 
the  hearty  laugh  of  '  Tom  Jones  '  "  clears  the  air  ;  " 
and  no  doubt  it  is  refreshing  as  contrasted  with  the 
sentimentality  of  Richardson,  whose  style  was  Field 
ing's  special  aversion  ;  but  we  must  remember  that  it 
is  the  horse-laugh  of  a  youth  full  of  animal  spirits  and 
rioting  in  the  exuberance  of  health,  who  sells  himself 
to  Lady  Bellaston  as  her  paramour,  while  all  the  time 
he  is  described  as  being  desperately  in  love  with  So 
phia  "Western. 

I  know  no  writer  more  likely  than  Thackeray  to 
have  given  unqualified  praise  to  '  Tom  Jones,'  and 
certainly  none  more  fitted  to  appreciate  the  charac 
ter  ;  for  the  robust  nature  of  his  intellect  made  him 
by  no  means  squeamish,  and  no  man  was  more  dis 
posed  to  look  kindly  upon  the  frailties  of  others, 
whether  heroes  of  fiction  or  persons  in  real  life.  But 
what  does  he  say  about  Fielding's  hero?  I  am  glad 
to  quote  the  passage,  for  it  shows  Thackeray's  sound 
sense  and  right  feeling : 

"I  can't  say  that  I  think  Mr.  Jones  a  virtuous 


THACKERAY  AND   COLERIDGE.  959 

character  ;  I  can't  say  but  that  I  think  Fielding's  evi 
dent  liking  and  admiration  for  Mr.  Jones  shows  that 
the  great  humorist's  moral  sense  was  blunted  by  his 
life,  and  that  here,  in  t  Art  and  Ethics,'  there  is  a 
great  error.  If  it  is  right  to  have  a  hero  whom  we 
may  admire,  let  us  at  least  take  care  that  he  is  ad 
mirable  ;  if,  as  is  the  plan  of  some  authors  (a  plan 
decidedly  against  their  interests,  be  it  said),  it  is  pro 
pounded  that  there  exists  in  life  no  such  being,  and 
therefore  that  in  novels,  the  picture  of  life,  there 
should  appear  no  such  character,  then  Mr.  Thomas 
Jones  becomes  an  admirable  person,  and  we  examine 
his  defects  and  good  qualities,  as  we  do  those  of  Par 
son  Thwackum  or  Miss  Seagrim.  But  a  hero  with  a 
flawed  reputation  ;  a  hero  springing  for  a  guinea ;  a 
hero  who  can't  pay  his  landlady,  and  is  obliged  to  let 
his  honor  out  to  hire,  is  absurd,  and  his  claim  to  he 
roic  rank  untenable.  I  protest  against  Mr.  Thomas 
Jones  holding  such  rank  at  all.  I  protest  against  his 
being  considered  a  more  than  ordinary  young  fellow, 
ruddy-cheeked,  broad-shouldered,  and  fond  of  wine 
and  pleasure.  He  would  not  rob  a  church,  but  that 
is  all ;  and  a  pretty  long  argument  may  be  debated 
as  to  which  of  these  old  types — the  spendthrift,  the 
hypocrite,  Jones  and  Blifit,  Charles  and  Joseph  Sur 
face — is  the  worst  member  of  society,  and  the  most 


260  NOVELS  AND  NOVELISTS. 

deserving  of  censure.  ...  I  am  angry  with  Jones. 
Too  much,  of  the  plum-cake  and  rewards  of  life  fall 
to  that  boisterous,  swaggering  young  scapegrace.  So 
phia  actually  surrenders  without  a  proper  sense  of 
decorum,  the  fond,  foolish,  palpitating  little  crea 
ture."  *  Coleridge  might  have  been  expected  to  be  at 
least  equally  sensitive  to  the  tainted  atmosphere  of  the 
work  ;  but,  strange  to  say,  he  is  more  than  indulgent 
to  it,  and  can  discover  no  fault  at  all.  He  says :  "  I 
do  not  speak  of  young  women  ;  but  a  young  man, 
whose  heart  or  feelings  can  be  injured,  or  even  his 
passions  excited  by  this  novel,  is  already  thoroughly 
corrupt.  There  is  a  cheerful,  sunshiny,  breezy  spirit 
that  prevails  everywhere,  strongly  contrasted  with  the 
close,  but  day-dreamy  continuity  of  Richardson."  f 
Who  that  has  read  i  Tom  Jones '  can  read  this  pas 
sage  without  amazement  ?  If  no  young  man's  heart 
or  feelings  can  be  injured,  or  even  his  passions  be  ex 
cited,  by  the  novel,  unless  he  is  "  already  thoroughly 
corrupt,"  why  in  the  name  of  common-sense  does 
Coleridge  imply  that  young  women  can  be  injured  by 
its  perusal  ?  "What  he  says  of  '  Tom  Jones '  is  un 
doubtedly  true  of  Shakespeare;  and  therefore  it  is 
that  we  allow  our  wives  and  sisters  and  daughters  to 

*  'English  Humorists,'  pp.  276-7. 
t  '  Literary  Remains,'  ii.  p.  374. 


FIELDING'S  DEFENCE   OF   'TOM  JONES.'       261 

read  him  without  fear  or  scruple.  Coleridge  adds 
that  he  "  loathes  the  cant  which  can  recommend  l  Pa 
mela'  and  c  Clarissa  Harlowe'  as  strictly  moral,  while 
'  Tom  Jones  '  is  prohibited  as  loose."  But  this  is 
really  a  false  issue.  It  would  indeed  be  grossly  in 
consistent  to  recommend  '  Clarissa  Harlowe '  as  moral 
and  condemn  c  Tom  Jones  '  as  loose ;  but  of  such  in 
consistency  we  are  not  likely  to  find  examples — at  all 
events  not  now ;  but  it  is  not  a  logical  consequence 
that  because  some  men  may  mistake  gray  for  white, 
they  are  therefore  wrong  when  they  call  black  by  its 
real  name.  Coleridge  further  says  that  this  novel  is, 
and  indeed  pretends  to  be,  no  example  of  conduct. 
But  this  is  a  poor  and  weak  defence.  There  is  noth 
ing  to  show  that  the  author  had  any  such  idea ;  on 
the  contrary,  he  does  all  in  his  power  to  make  his 
readers  admire  his  hero  ;  and  he  therefore  invests  him 
with  the  qualities  of  courage,  generosity,  and  kind 
ness.* 

The  real  defence  which  Fielding  himself  makes 
for  what  he  calls  "the  wit  and  humor"  of  his  novel 

*  "  '  Tom  Jones '  is  Fielding  himself,  hardened  in  some 
places,  softened  in  others.  His  Lady  Bellaston  is  an  infamous 
woman  of  his  former  acquaintance.  His  Sophia  is  again  his 
first  wife."  Letter  from  Richardson  to  Mrs.  Donnellan  in  his 
'  Correspondence,'  vol.  iv.  p.  60.  But  we  must  remember  that 
Richardson  hated  Fielding. 


262  NOVELS  AND  NOVELISTS. 

— and  that  it  abounds  in  wit  and  humor  no  reader  of 
it  can  deny,  only  it  must  be  admitted  to  be  of  the 
broadest  kind — is  that  he  has  "  endeavored  to  laugh 
mankind  out  of  their  favorite  follies  and  vices."  But 
I  fear  the  attempt  has  been  as  little  successful  as  that 
of  trying  to  put  burglary  out  of  fashion  by  making  it 
ridiculous.  We  laugh  with  the  author,  and  not  at  the 
folly  or  the  vice. 

In  his  dedication  of  'Tom  Jones'  to  the  Hon. 
George  Lyttelton,  Fielding  says  :  "I  hope  any  reader 
will  be  convinced  at  his  very  entrance  on  this  work, 
that  he  will  find  in  the  whole  course  of  it  nothing 
prejudicial  to  the  cause  of  religion  and  virtue  ;  noth 
ing  inconsistent  with  the  strictest  rules  of  decency,  nor 
which  can  offend  even  the  chastest  eye  in  the  perusal" 
The  italics  are  my  own,  and  the  passage  marked 
shows  that-  Fielding  believed,  or  pretended  to  believe, 
that  the  purest  maiden  might  read  his  novel  without 
offence.  And  this,  with  the  scene  of  Partridge's 
trial  for  incontinency,  the  scene  between  Philosopher 
Square  and  Molly  Seagrim,  the  scenes  between  Tom 
Jones  and  Mrs.  "Waters  in  the  inn  at  Upton,  between 
him  and  Lady  Bellaston  in  London,  to  say  nothing  of 
the  language  of  Squire  "Western  and  others  ! 

The  same  insensibility  to  what  is  indecent  and 
immodest  is  shown  by  Defoe  ;  for  he,  like  Fielding, 


EXTRACTS   FROM   'TOM  JONES.'  263 

thought  that  in  some  of  his  most  offending  novels 
there  was  nothing  improper.  In  his  preface  to  i  Rox- 
ana,  or  The  Fortunate  Mistress,'  he  says:  "If  there 
are  any  parts  in  her  story  which,  being  obliged  to 
relate  a  wicked  action,  seem  to  describe  it  too  plainly, 
the  writer"  (Defoe  pretends  that  the  story  was  written 
by  Hoxaiia  herself)  "  says  all  imaginable  care  has  been 
taken  to  keep  clear  of  indecencies  and  immodest  ex 
pressions  ;  and  it  is  hoped  you  will  find  nothing  to 
prompt  a  vicious  mind,  but  everywhere  much  to  dis 
courage  and  expose  it."  And  this  with  the  conversa 
tions  between  Roxana  and  her  maid  Amy,  and  the 
scenes  before  his  eyes,  in  which  they  both  are  actors  ! 
It  only  shows  how  the  moral  sense  may  be  blunted 
in  a  corrupt  period,  and  how  men  can  put  bitter  for 
sweet  even  if  they  do  not  put  sweet  for  bitter. 

In  1787,  Canning,  then  a  boy  at  Eton,  asks,  in 
the  c  Microcosm  : '  "Is  not  the  novel  of  c  Tom  Jones,' 
however  excellent  a  work  of  itself,  generally  put  too 
early  into  our  hands,  and  proposed  too  soon  to  the 
imitation  of  children?"  This  shows  what  different 
ideas  prevailed  even  then  from  those  which  prevail 
now  on  such  a  question.  E"o  parent  nor  schoolmaster 
would  dream  of  putting  i  Tom  Jones '  into  the  hands 
of  a  mere  boy  in  the  hope  (as  the  practice  was  for 
merly  defended)  that  he  would  be  attracted  by  the 


264  NOVELS  AND  NOVELISTS. 

manliness  of  the  hero's  character,  and  draw  for  him 
self  the  line — which  certainly  is  not  drawn  by  Field 
ing — where  virtue  ends  and  vice  and  immorality  begin. 
The  book  is  so  full  of  wit  and  fun  that  it  is  pro 
voking  not  to  be  able  to  give  specimens  without  the 
risk  of  p^§nJin^^gain^^d§Qp.mn2.  Perhaps  the  fol 
lowing  passage  will  bear  quotation,  where,  after  Tom 
Jones  has  been  detected  with  Molly  Seagrim,  like 
^Eneas  and  Dido  in  their  cave,  by  Thwackum  and 
Blifil,  and  a  battle  royal  has  been  fought  between 
them,  Squire  Western,  who  comes  up  and  separates 
the  combatants,  exclaims :  "  '  But  where  is  she  ? 
Prithee,  Tom,  show  me.'  He  then  began  to  beat 
about,  in  the  same  language  and  in  the  same  manner 
as  if  he  had  been  beating  for  a  hare ;  and  at  last  cried 
out :  '  Soho !  Puss  is  not  far  off.  Here's  her  form, 
upon  my  soul !  I  believe  I  may  cry,  Stole  away ! ' 
And  indeed  so  he  might ;  for  he  had  now  discovered 
the  place  whence  the  poor  girl  had,  at  the  beginning 
of  the  fray,  stolen  away,  upon  as  many  feet  as  a  hare 
generally  uses  in  travelling." 

"When  the  Squire's  sister  says  to  him,  "Your 
ignorance,  brother,  as  the  great  Milton  says,  almost 
subdues  my  patience,"  he  answers:  "D — n  Milton; 
if  he  had  the  impudence  to  say  so  to  my  face,  I'd 
lend  him  a  douse,  thof  he  was  never  so  great  a  man." 


EXTRACTS  FROM   'TOM  JOXES.'  265 

Fielding  is  fond  of  what  may  be  called  Homeric 
similes,  and  several  occur  in  i  Tom  Jones,'  of  which 
the  following  is  a  good  example.  He  is  describing 
the  attack  made  by  Mrs.  Partridge  upon  her  hus 
band  : 

"  As  fair  Grimalkin,  who,  though  the  youngest  of 
the  feline  family,  degenerates  not  in  ferocity  from  the 
elder  branches  of  her  house ;  and  though  inferior  in 
strength,  is  equal  in  fierceness  to  the  noble  tiger  him 
self;  when  a  little  mouse,  whom  it  hath  long  tor 
mented  in  sport,  escapes  from  her  clutches,  for  a 
while  frets,  scolds,  growls,  swears ;  but  if  the  trunk 
or  box  behind  which  the  mouse  lay  hid  be  again  re 
moved,  she  flies  like  lightning  on  her  prey,  and  with 
envenomed  wrath  bites,  scratches,  mumbles,  and  tears 
the  little  animal— 

"  Not  with  less  fury  did  Mrs.  Partridge  fly  on  the 
poor  pedagogue.  Her  tongue,  teeth,  and  hands  fell 
all  upon  him  at  once.  His  wig  was  in  an  instant 
torn  from  his  head,  his  shirt  from  his  back,  and  from 
his  face  descended  five  streams  of  blood,  denoting  the 
number  of  claws  with  which  Nature  had  unhappily 
armed  the  enemy." 

And  again,  when  the  Somersetshire  mob  rushes 
forward  to  assault  Molly  Seagrim : 

"As  a  vast  herd  of  cows  in  a  rich  farmer's  yard, 
12 


266  NOVELS  AND  NOVELISTS. 

if,  when  they  are  milked,  they  hear  their  calves  at  a 
distance  lamenting  the  robbery  which  is  then  com 
mitting;  so  roared  forth  the  Somersetshire  mob  an 
halloo.  .  .  ." 

But  having  quoted  the  prologue  to  the  fight,  I 
cannot  resist  the  temptation  of  quoting  also  the 
prowess  of  the  victorious  Molly : 

"Molly,  then,  taking  a  thigh-bone  in  her  hand, 
fell  in  among  the  flying  ranks,  and,  dealing  her  blows 
with  great  liberality  on  either  side,  overthrew  the 
carcass  of  many  a  mighty  hero  and  heroine. 

"Recount,  O  Muse,  the  names  of  those  who  fell 
on  that  fatal  day.  First,  Jemmy  Tweedle  felt  on  his 
hinder  head  the  direful  bone.  Him  the  pleasant 
banks  of  sweetly-winding  Stour  had  nourished,  where 
he  first  learnt  the  vocal  art,  with  which,  wandering 
up  and  down,  at  w^akes  and  fairs,  he  cheered  the  rural 
nymphs  and  swains,  when  upon  the  green  sward  they 
interweaved  the  sprightly  dance,  while  he  himself 
stood  fiddling  and  jumping  to  his  own  music.  How 
little  now  avails  his  fiddle !  He  thumps  the  verdant 
floor  with  his  carcass.  Next,  old  Echepole,  the  sow- 
gelder,  received  a  blow  on  his  forehead  from  our  Ama 
zon  heroine,  and  immediately  fell  to  the  ground.  He 
was  a  swingeing  fat  fellow,  and  fell  with  almost  as 
much  noise  as  a  house.  His  tobacco-box  dropped  at 


'JOSEPH  ANDREWS.'  267 

the  same  time  from  his  pocket,  which  Molly  took  up 
as  lawful  spoils.  Then  Kate  of  the  mill  tumbled  un 
fortunately  over  a  tombstone,  which,  catching  hold  of 
her  uno-artered  stocking,  inverted  the  order  of  Nature, 

O  O  / 

and  gave  her  heels  the  superiority  to  her  head.  Betty 
Pippin,  with  young  Roger  her  lover,  fell  both  to  the 
ground,  where,  oh  perverse  fate !  she  saluted  the 
earth  and  he  the  sky.  ..." 

The  following  burst  of  eloquence  ushers  in  the 
first  appearance  of  Sophia  Western  : 

"  Hushed  be  every  ruder  breath.  May  the  heathen 
rulers  of  the  winds  confine  in  iron  chains  the  boister 
ous  limbs  of  noisy  Boreas,  and  the  sharp-pointed  nose 
of  bitter-biting  Eurus.  Do  thou,  sweet  Zephyrus, 
rising  from  thy  fragrant  bed,  mount  the  western  sky, 
and  lead  on  those  delicious  gales,  the  charms  of  which 
call  forth  the  lovely  Flora  from  her  chamber,  per 
fumed  with  pearly  dews,  when  on  the  1st  of  June, 
her  birthday,  the  blooming  maid,  in  loose  attire, 
gently  trips  it  o'er  the  verdant  mead,  where  every 
fiower  rises  to  do  her  homage,  till  the  whole  field 
becomes  enamelled,  and  colors  contend  with  sweets, 
which  shall  ravish  her  most. 

u  So  charming  may  she  now  appear !  And  you, 
the  feathered  choristers  of  Nature,  whose  sweetest 
notes  not  even  Handel  can  excel,  tune  your  melodious 


268  NOVELS  AND  NOVELISTS. 

throats  to  celebrate  her  appearance.  From  love  pro 
ceeds  your  music,  and  to  love  it  returns.  Awaken, 
therefore,  that  gentle  passion  in  every  swain  ;  for  lo  ! 
adorned  with  all  the  charms  in  which  Nature  can 
array  her — bedecked  with  beauty,  youth,  sprightli- 
ness,  innocence,  modesty,  and  tenderness ;  breathing 
sweetness  from  her  rosy  lips,  and  darting  brightness 
from  her  sparkling  eyes,  the  lovely  Sophia  comes !  " 

The  next  most  celebrated  novel  of  Fielding,  al 
though  earlier  in  point  of  time,  is  i  Joseph  Andrews,' 
with  the  immortal  character  of  Parson  Adams,  a  rare 
compound  of  simplicity,  benevolence,  and  goodness. 
Fielding  tells  us  in  his  preface  that  in  Parson  Adams 
he  designed  a  character  of  perfect  simplicity,  and 
hopes  his  goodness  will  excuse  the  author  "to  the 
gentlemen  of  his  cloth,  as  no  other  office  could  have 
given  him  so  many  opportunities  of  displaying  his 
worthy  inclinations,  notwithstanding  the  low  adven 
tures  in  which  he  is  engaged."  * 

*  "  Parson  Young  sat  for  Fielding's  Parson  Adams,  a  man 
he  knew,  and  only  made  a  little  more  absurd  than  he  is  known 
to  be." — Letter  from  Richardson  to  Mrs.  Donnellan,  vol.  iv.,  p. 
60.  Fielding  says  of  the  characters  in  this  novel:  "I  declare 
here,  once  for  all,  I  describe  not  men  but  manners ;  not  indi 
viduals,  but  a  species.  Perhaps  it  will  be  answered,  are  not  the 
characters  then  taken  from  life  ?  To  which  I  answer  in  the 
affirmative,  nay,  I  believe  I  might  aver  that  I  have  writ  little 
more  than  I  have  seen." 


'JOSEPH  ANDREWS.'  269 

And  the  adventures  are  low  indeed.  In  one  of 
them,  at  a  village  ale-house,  Parson  Adams,  to  defend 
Joseph  Andrews,  hits  the  landlord  on  the  face  with 
his  fist,  when  Mrs.  Towwouse,  the  landlady,  rushes  to 
the  rescue,  "  when  lo !  a  pan  full  of  hog's  blood, 
which  unluckily  stood  on  the  dresser,  presented  itself 
first  to  her  hands.  She  seized  it  in  her  fury,  and, 
without  any  reflection,  discharged  it  into  the  parson's 
face,  and  with  so  good  an  aim,  that  much  the  greater 
part  first  saluted  his  countenance,  and  trickled  thence 
in  so  large  a  current  down  to  his  beard,  and  all  over 
his  garments,  that  a  more  horrible  spectacle  was 
hardly  to  be  seen,  or  even  imagined."  In  another 
scene,  having  by  mistake  taken  a  wrong  turn,  he 
enters  Fanny's  bedroom,  and,  laying  himself  down 
beside  her  in  utter  unconsciousness  of  her  presence, 
falls  fast  asleep,  "  nor  could  the  emanation  of  sweets 
which  flowed  from  her  mouth  overpower  the  fumes  of 
tobacco  which  played  in  the  parson's  nostrils."  Jo 
seph  comes  in  the  morning  to  the  bedroom-door  to 
awaken  the  fair  Fanny,  and  we  may  imagine  the 
confusion  that  follows. 

The  object  of  Parson  Adams's  journey  is  to  have 
a  volume  of  his  sermons  published,  and  at  an  inn, 
when  his  money  had  run  short,  he  wants  to  borrow 
from  the  landlord  three  guineas  on  the  security  of  the 


270  NOVELS  AND  NOVELISTS. 

manuscript.  Pointing  to  liis  saddle-bag,  lie  told  him, 
"  with  a  face  and  voice  full  of  solemnity,  that  there 
were  in  that  bag  no  less  than  nine  volumes  of  manu 
script  sermons,  as  well  worth  a  hundred  pounds  as  a 
shilling  was  worth  twelve  pence,  and  that  he  would 
deposit  one  of  the  volumes  in  his  hands  by  way  of 
pledge."  But  the  landlord  did  not  like  the  security 
— and  shortly  afterward,  when  the  saddle-bags  are 
opened  by  Joseph  to  look  for  the  sermons,  he  can  find 
none.  "  c  Sure,  sir,'  says  Joseph,  c  there  is  nothing  in 
the  bags.'  Upon  which  Adams,  starting  and  testify 
ing  some  surprise,  cried,  '  Hey  !  fie,  fie  upon  it !  they 
are  not  here,  suro  enough.  Ay,  they  are  certainly 
left  behind.' " 

The  least  objectionable,  according  to  modern 
notions,  of  Fielding's  novels,  is  'Amelia.'  There  is 
much  less  coarseness,  and  also  less  licentiousness. 
His  object  is  to  portray  the  conduct  of  a  virtuous 
wife,  who  adores  her  husband  and  children ;  and  she 
is  really  a  charming  character.  Scenes,  of  course, 
are  introduced  in  which  the  old,  old  story  of  illicit 
love  goes  on ;  but  they  are  wholly  unknown  to  her, 
and  they  serve  only  to  enhance,  by  the  force  of  con 
trast,  the  innocence  and  purity  of  her  mind.  M. 
Taine  says :  " '  Amelia '  is  the  perfect  model  of  an 
English  wife,  excelling  in  the  kitchen,  devoted  to  her 


'AMELIA.'  271 

husband,  even  so  far  as  to  pardon  his  accidental  in 
fidelities  ;  toujours  cjrosse.  She  is  modest  in  excess, 
always  blushing  and  tender."* 

She  is,  no  doubt,  intended  to  represent  the  char 
acter  of  Fielding's  first  wife,  as  her  husband,  Captain 
Booth,  is,  in  some  points,  intended  to  represent  his 
own.  But  he  is,  upon  the  whole,  a  poor  creature,  if 
not  what  Lady  Mary  "Wortley  Montagu  called  him, 
"  a  sorry  scoundrel "  —  hardly  ever  proof  against 
temptation,  and  getting  constantly  into  debt.  He, 
however,  fully  appreciates  the  value  of  the  treasure 
he  has  got  in  his  wife ;  and  in  the  midst  of  his  frail 
ties  has  the  merit  of  feeling  repentance  and  remorse. 

i  Amelia '  is  not  a  comic  novel.  There  are  no 
ludicrous  scenes  like  those  in  i  Tom  Jones,'  '  Joseph 
Andrews,'  and  '  Peregrine  Pickle ; '  and  yet  there  is 
sufficient  incident  and  variety  in  the  plot  to  interest 
and  amuse  the  reader.  We  are  introduced  into  the 
interior  of  a  prison,  and  have  a  vivid  picture  of  all 
its  abominations  in  those  days — to  Yauxhall,  where 
Amelia  is  insulted  by  libertine  advances — to  a  mas 
querade,  with  its  intrigues  and  loose  talk — and  to 


*  '  Histoire  de  la  LittSrature  Anglaise,'  vol.  iii.  p.  33.  I 
hardly  know  what  M.  Taine  means  by  applying  the  terms 
"toujours  grosse"  here,  for  Amelia  is  not  once  represented  as 
being  in  that  interesting  situation. 


272  NOVELS  AND  NOVELISTS. 

domestic  scenes  of  profligate  noblemen  and  colonels, 
and  conversations  where  Mrs.  Atkinson  quotes  Yirgil 
and  Horace  as  familiarly  as  if  they  had  been  written 
in  her  mother  tongue. 

If  we  may  believe  Richardson,  who  had  a  spite 
against  Fielding  for  representing  Pamela  as  the  sister 
of  Joseph  Andrews,  and  ridiculing  her,  the  novel  of 
'Amelia'  wras  not  successful.  He  says  in  one  of 
his  letters  in  1752 :  "  Mr.  Fielding  has  met  with 
the  disapprobation  you  foresaw  he  would  meet  with 
in  his  '  Amelia.'  He  is,  in  every  paper  he  publishes 
under  the  title  of  the  Covent  Garden,  contributing 
to  his  own  overthrow.  He  has  been  overmatched  in 
his  own  way  by  people  whom  he  had  despised,  and 
whom  he  thought  he  had  vogue  enough  from  the  suc 
cess  his  spurious  brat  i  Tom  Jones '  so  unaccountably 
met  with,  to  write  down."  *  And  again  :  "  Captain 
Booth "  (Amelia's  husband),  "  madam,  has  done  his 
own  business.  .  .  .  The  piece,  in  short,  is  as  dead  as 
if  it  had  been  published  forty  years  ago,  as  to  sale. 
You  guess  that  I  have  not  read  f  Amelia.'  Indeed,  I 
have  read  but  the  first  volume.  I  had  intended  to  go 
through  with  it ;  but  I  found  the  characters  and  situa 
tions  so  wretchedly  low  and  dirty,  that  I  imagined  I 
could  not  be  interested  for  any  one  of  them.  .  .  . 

*  '  Richardson's  Letters,'  vol.  iii.  p.  63. 


'AMELIA.'  273 

Booth  in  his  last  piece  again  himself.  Amelia,  even 
to  her  noselessness,  is  again  his  first  wife.  His  brawls, 
his  jars,  his  gaols,  his  spunging-houses,  are  all  drawn 
from  what  he  has  seen  and  known."  * 

However  this  may  be,  I  think  that  of  all  the 
novels  of  that  period,  '  Amelia '  is  the  one  which 
gives  the  most  generally  truthful  idea  of  the  manners 
and  habits  of  middle-class  society  then.  There  is 
little,  if  any,  exaggeration  or  caricature,  and  I  have 
no  doubt  that  Fielding  intended  faithfully  to  depict 
society,  such  as  he  knew  it,  with  its  merits  and  its 
faults ;  its  licentious  manners,  and  domestic  virtues ; 
its  brawls,  its  oaths,  its  prisons,  and  its  masquerades. 

*  This  is  bitter  spite  on  the  part  of  Richardson.  Fielding 
describes  Amelia  as  having  her  nose  injured  by  a  fall  before  her 
marriage.  Dr.  Johnson  said :  "  Fielding's  'Amelia '  was  the  most 
pleasing  heroine  of  all  the  romances ;  but  that  vile  broken  nose, 
never  cured,  ruined  the  sale  of  perhaps  the  only  book  which 
being  printed  off  betimes  one  morning,  a  new  edition  was  called 
for  before  night." 


>• 


CHAPTER    IX. 

SMOLLETT.  —  DIFFERENCE  BETWEEN  HIM  AND  FIELDING.  — '  PEE- 
EGEINE  PICKLE:  — 'HUMPHRY  CLINKEE:  — 'THE  SPIRITUAL 
QUIXOTE: 

THE  jolly,  riotous  kind  of  life  which  I  have  spoken 
of  as  characteristic  of  one  class  of  novels  of  the  last 
century  is  fully  displayed  in  the  pages  of  Smollett. 
He  reflects,  in  many  respects,  the  character  of  the 
age  more  fully  than  any  other  writer — its  material 
pleasures,  its  coarse  amusements,  its  hard  drinking, 
loud  swearing,  and  practical  jokes.  His  heroes  are 
generally  libertines,  full  of  mirth  and  animal  spirits, 
who  make  small  account  of  woman's  chastity,  and 
whose  adventures  are  intrigues,  and  their  merriment 
broad  farce.  Such  are  the  chief  features  of  '  Eoder- 
ick  Random'  and  i Peregrine  Pickle,'  neither  of 
which,  however,  is  so  offensive  as  the  '  Adventures 
of  Ferdinand,  Count  Fathom,'  the  hero  of  which  is  a 
blackguard  and  a  scoundrel,  without  a  redeeming 
virtue. 

The  French  critic,  M.  Taine,  whom  I  have  already 


SMOLLETT.  275 

quoted,  thus  speaks  of  Smollett :  "  He  exaggerates 
caricature ;  he  thinks  he  amuses  us  in  showing  us 
mouths  gaping  to  the  ears,  and  noses  half  a  foot  long; 
he  exaggerates  a  national  prejudice  or  a  professional 
trick  until  it  absorbs  the  whole  character.  lie .  flings 
together  personages  the  most  revolting  with  the  most 
grotesque — a  Lieutenant  Lismahago,  half  roasted  by 
Red  Indians ;  sea-wolves  who  pass  their  lives  in 
shouting  and  travestying  all  their  ideas  into  a  sea 
jargon ;  old  maids  as  ugly  as  she-asses,  as  withered 
as  skeletons,  and  as  acrid  as  vinegar  ;  maniacs  steeped 
in  pedantry,  hypochondria,  misanthropy,  and  silence. 
Far  from  sketching  them  slightly,  like  Gil  Bias,  he 
brings  into  prominent  relief  each  disagreeable  trait, 
and  overloads  it  with  details,  without  considering 
whether  they  are  too  numerous,  without  reflecting 
that  they  are  excessive,  without  feeling  that  they  are 
odious,  without  seeing  that  they  are  disgusting.  The 
public  whom  he  addresses  is  on  a  level  with  his  energy 
and  roughness,  and  Jn  order  to  shake  such  nerves  a 
writer  cannot  strike  too  hard."  * 

One  of  the  chief  differences  between  Smollett  and 
Fielding  is  this — the  scenes  and  adventures  in  Smol 
lett's  novels  are  laughable  and  farcical  in  themselves  ; 
but  have  little  or  no  bearing  upon  the  progress  of  the 
*  '  Histoire  de  la  Literature  Anglaise,'  vol.  iv.  p.  323. 


276  NOVELS  AND  NOVELISTS. 

story.  They  are  too  much  like  the  disconnected  slides 
in  a  magic-lantern.  But  Fielding  makes  each  sepa 
rate  adventure,  especially  in  '  Tom  Jones,'  subservient 
to  the  plot,  the  issue  of  which  is  worked  out  with 
admirable  consistency  and  skill. 

It  will  be  sufficient,  for  the  purpose  of  giving  an 
idea  of  Smollett's  humor,  to  take  two  of  his  stories, 
c  Peregrine  Pickle  '  and  '  Humphry  Clinker.'  Pere 
grine  Pickle  is  the  son  of  Gamaliel  Pickle,  and  at  his 
birth  his  mother  conceived  an  unnatural  aversion  to 
him,  which  she  continued  to  feel  until  her  death.  He 
is  adopted  by  an  uncle,  Commodore  Trunnion,  who, 
with  his  friend  and  companion  Lieutenant  Jack 
Hatchway  (with  a  wooden  leg),  and  his  former  boat 
swain  Tom  Pipes,  has  retired  from  the  navy  and 
ensconced  himself  not  far  from  his  brother's  house 
near  the  sea-side,  in  a  habitation  which  is  called  the 
Garrison,  defended  by  a  ditch,  over  which  he  had  laid 
a  drawbridge  and  planted  his  court-yard  with  patere- 
roes  continually  loaded  with  shot.  There  is  little 
doubt  that  Sterne  took  the  idea  of  Uncle  Toby  and 
Corporal  Trim  in  '  Tristram  Shandy '  from  Commo 
dore  Trunnion  and  Jack  Hatchway.  The  Commo 
dore  gives  every  thing  a  -nautical  turn,  and  hardly 
ever  speaks  without  uttering,  a  volley  of  oaths.  Smol 
lett  himself  had  been  a  surgeon's  mate,  and  was  per- 


'PEREGKINE  PICKLE.'  277 

fcctly  at  home  in  sea-phrases.  Mi*.  Gamaliel  Pickle 
lias  a  sister  Grizzle,  "with  a  very  wan,  not  to  say 
sallow,  complexion,"  a  cast  in  lier  eye,  and  an  enor 
mous  mouth,  and  slightly  addicted  to  brandy,  who 
gets  her  heart  on  engaging  the  affections  of  the  Com 
modore.  She  is  aided  in  her  schemes  by  Jack  Hatch 
way,  who  persuades  Pipes  to  get  on  the  chimney 
belonging  to  the  Commodore's  chamber  at  midnight, 
and  lower  down  by  a  rope  a  bunch  of  rotten  and  phos 
phorescent  whitings,  while  he  put  a  speaking-trumpet 
to  his  mouth  and  in  a  voice  like  thunder  shouted  out 
"  Trunnion !  Trunnion !  turn  out  and  be  spliced,  or 
lie  still  and  be  d — d."  This  so  terrifies  the  gallant 
sailor  that  he  yields  to  the  lady's  advances,  exclaim 
ing,  "  Well,  since  it  must  be  so,  I  think  wTe  must  e'en 
grapple.  But  .  .  .  'tis  a  hard  case  that  a  fellow  of 
my  years  should  be  compelled,  d'ye  see,  to  beat  up  to 
windward  all  the  rest  of  my  life,  against  the  current 
of  my  inclination."  I  have  already  described  the 
dress  he  wore  at  his  wedding,  but  not  the  adventure 
that  befell  him  on  the  occasion.  When  he  had 
mounted  his  horse,  attended  by  his  lieutenant,  to  meet 
the  bride  at  church,  a  pack  of  hounds  unluckily 
crossed  his  path.  Off  set  the  two  horses,  and  Jack 
Hatchway  was  soon  deposited  in  a  field  of  clover, 
while  the  Commodore  was  carried  past  him  at  a  gal- 


278  NOVELS  AND  NOVELISTS. 

lop,  crying  out,  "  O,  you  are  safe  at  anchor.  I  wish 
to  God  I  were  as  fast  moored."  His  horse  takes  a 
five-barred  gate,  "  to  the  utter  confusion  and  disorder 
of  his  owner,  who  lost  his  hat  and  periwig  in  the  leap, 
and  now  began  to  think  in  good  earnest  that  he  was 
actually  mounted  on  the  back  of  the  devil."  After 
various  other  mishaps,  he  is  first  in  at  the  death  of 
the  stag,  and,  being  refreshed  by  a  flask  of  brandy, 
explains  to  the  sportsmen  the  cause  of  his  strange 
appearance.  He  says  he  was  bound  to  the  next  church 
on  the  voyage  of  matrimony ;  but,  "  howsomever," 
the  wind,  shifting,  blowed  directly  in  their  teeth,  so 
that  they  were  forced  to  tack  all  the  way,  and  had 
almost  hauled  up  within  sight  of  port  when  the  two 
horses  luffed  round  in  a  trice,  and  then,  refusing  the 
helm,  drove  away  like  lightning.  "  I  have  been  car 
ried  over  rocks,  and  flats,  and  quicksands,  among 
which  I  have  pitched  away  a  special  good  tie-periwig 
and  an  iron-bound  hat ;  and  at  last,  thank  God !  am 
got  into  smooth  water  and  safe  riding  ;  but  if  ever  I 
venture  my  carcass  upon  such  a  hare'um  scare' um  .  .  . 
again,  my  name  is  not  Hawser  Trunnion.  .  .  ." 

The  ceremony  of  marriage  was  performed  at  a  later 
day  in  the  Garrison,  and  the  wedding-supper  con 
sisted  of  a  huge  pillau,  two  dishes  of  hard  fish  flanked 
by  lobscouse  and  salmagundy,  a  goose  "  of  monstrous 


'PEREGRINE  PICKLE.'  279 

magnitude,"  two  guinea-liens,  a  pig  barbacued,  a  leg 
of  mutton  roasted  with,  potatoes,  and  another  boiled 
with  yams.  Then  came  a  loin  of  fresh  pork  with  ap 
ple-sauce,  a  kid  smothered  with  onions,  and  a  terrapin 
baked  in  the  shell ;  and  last  of  all  a  prodigious  sea- 
pie  "  with  an  infinite  volume  of  pancakes  and  fritters." 
Of  liquors  there  was  abundance  in  the  shape  of  strong 
beer,  flip,  rumbo,  and  burnt  brandy,  "  with  plenty  of 
Barbadoes  water  for  the  ladies."  The  happy  pair  go 
to  bed  in  a  hammock,  which,  not  being  used  to  a 
double  weight,  tumbles  to  the  ground,  and  Mrs.  Trun 
nion  screams. 

Peregrine  is  sent  by  his  uncle  to  a  boarding-school, 
kept  by  "  an  old  illiterate  German  quack,  who  had 
formerly  practised  corn-cutting  among  the  quality, 
and  sold  cosmetic  washes  to  the  ladies,  together  with 
tooth-powders,  hair-dyeing  liquids,  prolific  elixirs,  and 
tinctures  to  sweeten  the  breath."  But  he  has  an  ex 
cellent  usher,  who  was  a  man  of  learning,  probity,  and 
good  sense  ;  but  who  soon  resigned  his  situation,  and 
"finding  interest  to  obtain  holy  orders  he  left  the 
kingdom,  hoping  to  find  a  settlement  in  some  of  our 
American  plantations." 

Peregrine  now  returns  to  the  Commodore  at  the 
Garrison,  upon  whom,  in  conjunction  with  Hatchway 
and  Pipes,  he  plays  several  practical  jokes,  and,  being 


280  NOVELS  AND  NOVELISTS. 

detected,  is  sent  off  with  a  tutor  to  "Winchester  school. 
Here  he  meets  at  a  race-ball  Miss  Emilia  Gauntlet, 
with,  whom  he  falls  in  love,  and  who  is  the  virtuous 
heroine  of  the  story.  He  makes  her  acquaintance  by 
begging  that  she  would  do  him  the  honor  to  walk  a 
minuet  with  him,  and  is  introduced  to  her  mother, 
who  lives  with  her  daughter  in  a  small  house  in  a  vil 
lage  near  Winchester.  He  writes  a  copy  of  verses  in 
praise  of  his  charmer,  and,  enclosing  them  in  a  tender 
epistle,  commits  it  to  the  care  of  Pipes,  who  had  ac 
companied  him  to  Winchester,  with  directions  to  de 
liver  it  and  a  present  of  venison  at  Mrs.  Gauntlet's 
house.  For  the  sake  of  safety,  Tom  Pipes  puts  the 
letter  between  the  stocking  and  sole  of  his  foot,  and 
when  he  looks  for  it  at  the  end  of  his  journey  finds  it 
torn  to  tatters.  He  therefore  goes  to  an  inn  and 
composes  a  love-letter  himself  to  replace  the  one  that 
was  lost,  and  we  may 'guess  the  kind  of  nonsense  it 
contained.  He  delivers  the  letter,  and  Emilia's  as 
tonishment  on  reading  it  is  only  equalled  by  her  in 
dignation  at  what  she  supposes  is  meant  to  be  an 
insult.  She  dismisses  Pipes  without  an  answer  ;  and 
Peregrine,  taking  offence  at  this,  resolves  to  retort 
her  own  neglect  upon  his  ungrateful  mistress,  so  that 
the  misunderstanding  is  complete. 

He  afterward  goes  to  the  University  of  Oxford  as 


4  PEREGRINE  PICKLE.'  281 

a  student,  and,  happening  to  meet  Emilia,  an  explana 
tion  takes  place  between  them,  and  they  are  recon 
ciled.  Tom  Pipes  is  interrogated  as  to  the  letter. 
Seizing  him  by  the  throat,  Peregrine  asks  him,  "  Ras- 
cal !  tell  me  this  instant  what  became  of  the  letter  I 
intrusted  to  your  care,"  and  Pipes,  squirting  a  collec 
tion  of  tobacco-juice  out  of  his  mouth,  replies,  "Why, 
burnt  it.  You  wouldn't  have  me  give  the  young 
woman  a  thing  that  shook  all  in  the  wind  in  tatters, 
would  you  ?  "  Peregrine  quarrels  with  his  tutor,  who 
writes  to  Mrs.  Trunnion,  and  informs  her  of  the  love- 
affair,  and  this  leads  to  a  rupture  with  his  uncle,  who 
send  him  a  letter  in  which  he  says  :  "  I  am  informed 
as  how  you  are  in  chase  of  a  painted  galley,  which 
will  decoy  you  upon  the  flats  of  destruction,  unless 
you  keep  a  better  lookout  and  a  surer  reckoning  than 
you  have  hitherto  done."  Jack  Hatchway  brings  the 
letter,  and  tries  all  he  can  to  persuade  him  to  yield  to 
the  Commodore's  wishes.  "Among  other  remon 
strances,  Jack  observed  that  mayhap  Peregrine  had 
got  under  Emilia's  hatches,  and  did  not  choose  to  set 
her  adrift ;  and  that  if  that  was  the  case,  he  himself 
would  take  charge  of  the  vessel,  and  see  her  cargo 
safely  delivered ;  for  he  had  a  respect  for  the  young 
woman,  and  his  needle  pointed  toward  matrimony, 
and  as,  in  all  probability,  she  would  not  be  much  the 


282  NOVELS  AND  NOVELISTS. 

worse  for  the  wear,  lie  would   make   shift  to   scud 
through  life  with  her  under  an  easy  sail." 

But  Peregrine  is  obstinate,  and  the  two  friends 
get  so  warm  that  Hatchway  at  last  says :  "  You  and  I 
must  crack  a  pistol  at  one  another ;  here  is  a  brace  ; 
you  shall  take  which  you  please."  They  stand  up  in 
the  Park,  when  Tom  Pipes  interposes  with  his  cud 
gel  and  prevents  the  duel,  saying  to  Peregrine :  "  I  am 
your  man.  Here's  my  sapling,  and  I  don't  value 
your  sapling  a  rope's  end."  The  quarrel  is  soon  made 
up,  and  Peregrine  goes  to  pay  a  visit  to  Emilia,  where 
he  meets  a  brother,  and  after  fighting  a  duel  with 
him,  becomes  his  intimate  friend.  He  then  returns 
to  the  Garrison,  and  there  finds  the  poor  old  Commo 
dore  sadly  hen-pecked  by  his  wife,  "  who  by  the  force 
of  pride,  religion,  and  cognac,  had  erected  a  most  ter 
rible  tyranny  in  the  house."  I  should  mention  that 
Peregrine  has  a  younger  brother  Gamaliel,  or  Gam, 
as  he  is  called,  upon  whom  his  mother  lavishes  all  her 
fondness,  and  who  is  an  ugly,  deformed  scoundrel,  and 
also  a  sister  Julia,  a  loving,  charming  creature.  He 
now  resolves  to  travel  abroad,  and  sets  off  for  the  Con 
tinent,  accompanied  by  Jolter  as  his  tutor  or  com 
panion.  We  need  not  follow  him  there,  for  it  is  be 
side  the  purpose  of  this  book  to  give  descriptions  of 
foreign  cities  and  foreign  mariners.  It  is  enough  to 


'PEREGRINE  PICKLE.'  283 

say  that  Peregrine  is  not  a  Joseph,  and  if  the  fair 
Emilia  had  known  of  all  his  adventures,  she  would 
have  been  quite  justified  in  declining  further  intimacy 
with  such  a  scapegrace.  But  I  must  mention  the 
famous  banquet  in  Paris,  which  a  pedantic  doctor  "  in 
a  suit  of  black,  and  a  huge  tie-wig,"  gave  in  the  man 
ner  of  the  ancients.  He  had  to  dismiss  five  cooks, 
who  could  not  prevail  upon  their  consciences  to  obey 
his  directions,  and  the  last  whom  he  engaged  begged 
on  his  knees  to  be  released  from  his  contract,  but  find 
ing  this  in  vain,  "  wept,  sang,  cursed,  and  capered  for 
two  whole  hours  without  intermission."  "When  the 
guests  meet,  the  Doctor  apologizes  for  not  having 
been  able  to  procure  for  them  the  exact  triclinia  of 
the  ancients,  and  they  have  to  put  up  with  couches, 
where,  on  settling  themselves,  the  feet  of  one  come  in 
contact  with  the  head  of  another,  to  the  great  discom 
fiture  of  periwigs.  "  At  each  end  there  are  dishes  of 
the  salacacabia  of  the  Romans ;  this  is  made  of  pars 
ley,  pennyroyal,  cheese,  pinetops,  honey,  vinegar, 
lime,  cucumber,  onions,  and  hen-livers."  But  the 
Frenchman  who  swallowed  the  first  spoonful,  "  made 
a  full  pause,  his  throat  swelled  as  if  an  egg  had 
stuck  in  his  gullet,  his  eyes  rolled,  and  his  mouth 
underwent  a  series  of  involuntary  contractions  and 
dilatations."  A  pie  follows,  and  well  might  the 


284  NOVELS  AND  NOVELISTS. 

painter  exclaim :  "  '  A  pie  made  of  dormice  and  syrup 
of  poppies !  Lord  in  heaven !  what  beastly  fellows 
those  Romans  were  ! '  The  sow's  stomach  and  fricas 
see  of  snails  were  not  more  tempting,  and  when  one 
of  the  fowls  was  opened,  the  unhappy  carver  was  as 
saulted  by  such  an  irruption  of  intolerable  smells,  that, 
without  staying  to  disengage"  himself  from  the  cloth, 
he  sprang  away,  with  an  exclamation,  '  Lord  Jesus  ! ' 
and  involved  the  whole  table  in  havoc,  ruin,  and  con 
fusion." 

Peregrine  returns  to  England  a  thorough  libertine, 
and  when  he  meets  Emilia,  talks  to  her  in  a  strain 
which  keeps  barely  within  the  bounds  of  decency. 
His  object  now  is  something  very  different  from  mar 
riage,  but  he  finds  himself  baffled  by  her  prudence  and 
reserve.  He  goes  back  to  the  Garrison,  where  he  finds 
the  old  Commodore  very  near  his  end,  but  cheerful  to 
the  last.  "  Swab  the  spray  from  your  bowsprit,"  he 
cries,  "  and  coil  up  your  spirits.  You  must  not  let  the 
top-lifts  of  your  heart  give  way  because  you  see  me 
ready  to  go  down  at  these  years.  .  .  .  Here  has  been 
a  doctor  that  wanted  to  stow  me  chock-full  of  physic, 
but  when  a  man's  hour  is  come,  what  signifies  his  tak 
ing  his  departure  with  a  'pothecary's  shop  in  his  hold  ? 
Those  fellows  come  alongside  of  dying  men,  like  the 
messengers  of  the  Admiralty,  with  sailing  orders  ;  but 


'PEREGRINE  PICKLE.'  285 

I  told  him  as  how  I  could  slip  my  cable  without  his 
direction  or  assistance,  and  so  he  hauled  off  in  dud 
geon.  .  .  .  There's  your  aunt  sitting  whimpering  by 
the  fire.  I  desire  you  will  keep  her  tight,  warm,  and 
easy  in  her  old  age ;  she's  an  honest  heart  in  her  own 
way ;  and  thof  she  goes  a  little  crank  and  humorsome, 
by  being  overstowed  with  JSTantz  and  religion,  she  has 
been  a  faithful  shipmate  to  me.  .  .  .  Jack  Hatchway, 
you  know  the  trim  of  her  as  well  as  e'er  a  man  in 
England,  and  I  believe  she  has  a  kindness  for  you ; 
whereby  if  you  two  will  grapple  in  the  way  of  matri 
mony,  when  I  am  gone,  I  do  suppose  that  my  godson, 
for  love  of  me,  will  allow  you  to  live  in  the  Garrison 
all  the  days  of  your  life."  And  so  the  kind-hearted 
old  gentleman  dies — a  man  whom,  with  all  his  fail 
ings,  it  is  impossible  not  to  love,  and  we  sympathize 
with  honest  Tom  Pipes,  who  exclaims  :  "  Well  fare 
thy  soul,  old  Hawser  Trunnion — man  and  boy  I  have 
known  thee  these  five-and-thirty  years,  and  sure  a 
truer  heart  never  broke  biscuit.  Many  a  hard  gale 
hast  tliou  weathered  ;  but  now  thy  spells  are  all  over, 
and  thy  hull  fairly  laid  up.  A  better  commander  I'd 
never  desire  to  serve,  and  who  knows  but  I  may  help 
to  set  up  thy  standing-rigging  in  another  world  ?  " 

He  dies,  leaving  the  bulk  of  his  fortune  to  Pere 
grine,  who,  on  the  strength  of  it,  goes  to  town,  buys  a 


286  NOVELS  AND  NOVELISTS. 

new  chariot  and  horses,  and  seeks  to  distinguish  him 
self  in  the  world  of  fashion.  He  now  lays  a  plan  for 
carrying  out  his  infamous  design  upon  Emilia,  whom 
he  meets  in  London.  He  persuades  her  to  accompany 
him  to  a  masquerade  in  the  Hay  market,  where  he 
drugs  the  wine  he  offers  her,  and  afterward,  instead 
of  conveying  her  in  his  carriage  to  her  uncle's  house, 
as  she  supposes,  had  her  driven  elsewhere.  But  he 
little  knows  the  character  and  spirit  of  Emilia.  When 
she  discovers  the  trick  that  has  been  played  upon  her, 
she  betrays  no  alarm,  but  confounds  him  with  the  se 
verity  of  her  rebuke.  "  i  Sir,'  she  said,  '  your  be 
havior  on  this  occasion  is  in  all  respects  low  and  con 
temptible,  for,  ruffian  as  you  are,  you  durst  not  harbor 
one  thought  of  executing  your  execrable  scheme  while 
you  knew  my  brother  was  near  enough  to  protect  or 
avenge  the  insult ;  so  that  you  must  not  only  be  a 
treacherous  villain,  but  also  a  most  despicable  coward.' 
"  Having  expressed  herself  in  this  manner  with  a 
most  majestic  serenity  of  aspect,  she  opened  the  door, 
and  walking  down-stairs  with  surprising  resolution, 
committed  herself  to  the  care  of  a  watchman,  who 
accommodated  her  with  a  hackney-chair,"  in  which 
she  is  safely  conveyed  to  her  uncle's  house.  Pere 
grine  goes  to  the  uncle,  an  alderman  in  the  city,  who 
shows  him  the  door,  and  then  we  have  a  series  of 


'PEREGPJXE  PICKLE.'  287 

adventures  in  London,  which  are  neither  edifying  nor 
interesting. 

It  is  here  that  Smollett  introduces  the  long  episode 
called  the  '  Memoirs  of  a  Lady  of  Quality,'  to  which 
I  have  "before  alluded,  and  which  occupy  a  consid 
erable  part  of  the  novel.  There  is  also  a  tiresome 
Welshman,  named  Cadwallader,  who  is  one  of  the 
bores  of  the  story. 

Peregrine  goes  on  from  bad  to  worse,  sinking  low 
er  and  lower  in  fortune,  until  at  last,  having  taken  to 
authorship  and  libelled  a  Minister,  he  is,  at  his  insti. 
gation,  arrested  for  debt  and  lodged  in  the  Fleet. 
Here  again  we  have  another  long  and  tedious  episode, 

the  '  Memoirs  of  Mr.  M ,'  a  fellow-prisoner  in  the 

Fleet,  who  no  doubt  is  intended  to  represent  some 
real  character  of  the  time.  Hatchway  and  Pipes 
come  to  visit  him,  and,  like  Sam  Weller  in  t  Pick 
wick,'  insist  upon  taking  up  their  quarters  in  the 
prison  to  keep  him  company.  At  last  better  fortune 
begins  to  dawn ;  some  money  which  he  thought  he 
had  irrevocably  lost  in  an  adventure  is  repaid  to  him ; 
the  fair  Emilia,  who  has  in  the  mean  time  become  a 
great  heiress,  relents  and  offers  to  forgive  the  past ; 
his  father  dies  suddenly  intestate,  leaving  Peregrine 
his  heir,  and  he  offers  Emilia  his  hand.  In  those 
days,  or  at  all  events  in  the  novels  of  those  days,  no 


288  NOVELS  AND  NOVELISTS. 

time  was  lost  in  wedding  preparations.  He  falls  at 
her  feet  and  entreats  that  they  may  be  married  at 
once,  "but  the  bride  objects  with  great  vehemence 
to  such  precipitation,  being  desirous  of  her  mother's 
presence  at  the  ceremony."  She  is,  however,  teased 
into  compliance  ;  they  go  to  Doctors'  Commons  for  a 
license,  engage  a  clergyman,  and  the  ceremony  is  per 
formed  at  Emilia's  lodgings.  The  evening  is  spent 
"  at  the  public  entertainments  in  Marylebone  Gar 
dens,  which  were  at  that  time  frequented  by  the  best 
company  in  town,"  and  after  Emilia  and  her  friend 
Sophy  have  retired  to  her  lodging,  Peregrine  follows 
her  there,  "  where  he  found  her  dished  (!)  out,  the  fair 
est  daughter  of  chastity  and  love." 

6 Humphry  Clinker'  is  a  very  different  kind  of 
novel,  in  which  Smollett  gives  full  play  to  his  powers 
of  satire ;  and  in  which,  therefore,  it  is  necessary  to 
be  cautious,  before  we  can  accept  any  part  of  his  de 
scriptions  as  true.  It  was  written  by  him  when  he 
was  dying  at  Leghorn,  and  is  a  proof  of  the  vigor  and 
fertility  of  his  intellect. 

The  story  consists  of  the  adventures  of  a  Welsh 
family  of  the  name  of  Bramble  in  their  travels  through 
England  and  Scotland,  and  the  wit  depends  upon  the 
oddity  of  the  characters  introduced. 

Mr.  Matthew  Bramble,  a  testy  but  kind-hearted 


'HUMPHRY  CLINKER.'  289 

Welsh  squire — whose  opinions  are  supposed  to  repre 
sent  those  of  Smollett  himself — accompanied  by  his 
stingy  and  ugly  sister,  Miss  Tabitha  Bramble — "  ex 
ceedingly  starched,  vain,  and  ridiculous,"  and  bent  at 
all  cost  upon  matrimony — his  nephew  and  his  niece — • 
makes  a  family  tour  in  a  coach  and  six.  They  are 
attended  by  a  lady's  maid,  Mrs.  "Winifred  Jenkins, 
whose  letters  to  her  fellow-servants  at  Brambleton 
Hall,  with  their  wonderful  spelling  and  "  malaprop  " 
words,  are  the  most  amusing  part  of  the  work.  They 
pick  up  a  postilion  named  Humphry  Clinker,  a  con 
vert  to  the  new  doctrines  of  Whitefield  and  Wesley, 
who  afterward  turns  out  to  be  a  natural  son  of  Mr. 
Bramble  himself,  and  who,  after  converting  Miss  Ta 
bitha  and  Mrs.  Winifred,  marries  the  latter.  The 
niece,  Lydia  Melford,  has  a  love-affair  with  a  young 
gentleman,  whom  she  first  meets  in  the  disguise  of  a 
strolling  actor,  and  whom  she  ultimately  marries. 

A  great  part  of  the  wit  of  the  novel  consists  in 
the  ludicrous  way  in  which  the  language  of  the  Meth 
odists  is  travestied.  But  this  is,  I  think,  wit  of  the 
lowest  kind.  Nothing  is  easier  than  to  write  a  par 
ody,  and  of  all  parodies  those  which  turn  sacred 
things  into  ridicule  are  the  easiest  and  the  most  rep 
rehensible.  It  is  but  poor  jesting  to  make  a  maid 
servant  write  "  grease  "  for  "  grace,"  and  "  pyebell  " 
13 


290  NOVELS  AND  NOVELISTS. 

for  "  Bible ; "  to  "  pray  constantly  for  grease  that  I 
may  have  a  glimpse  of  the  new-light  to  show  me  the 
way  through  the  wretched  veil  of  tares ; "  and  say, 
"  Mr.  Clinker  assures  me  that  by  the  new  light  of 
grease  I  may  deify  the  devil  and  all  his  works ;  "  or, 
"  Sattin  has  had  power  to  temp  me  in  the  shape  of 
Van  Ditton,  the  young  Squire's  wally  de  shamble, 
but  by  God's  grease  he  did  not  perrvail.*'  "  O !  Mary 
Jones,  pray  without  seizing  for  grease  to  prepare 
you  for  the  operations  of  this  wonderful  instrument, 
which,  I  hope,  will  be  exercised  this  winter  upon  you 
and  others  at  Brambleton  Hall."  "I  do  no  more 
than  yuse  the  words  of  my  good  lady  who  has  got 
the  infectual  calling ;  and  I  trust  that  even  myself, 
though  unworthy,  shall  find  grease  to  be  excepted/' 
But,  apart  from  this,  it  is  impossible  not  to  help 
laughing  at  Mrs.  "Winifred's  descriptions  of  places 
and  things,  which  are  irresistibly  comic. 

"  O  Molly !  what  shall  I  say  of  London  ?  All  the 
towns  that  ever  I  beheld  in  my  born-days  are  no  more 
than  "Welsh  barrows  and  crumleeks  to  this  wonder 
fully  sitty  !  Even  Bath  itself  is  but  a  fillitch  in  the 
naam  of  God.  One  would  think  there's  no  end  of 
the  streets  but  the  land's  end.  Then  there's  such  a 
power  of  people  going  hurry-skurry !  Such  a  racket 
of  coxes !  Such  a  noise  and  haliballoo  !  So  many 


MISS  TABITHA  BRAMBLE.  291 

strange  sites  to  be  seen !  O  gracious !  my  poor  Welsh 
brain  lias  been  spinning  like  a  top  ever  since  I  came 
hither ! "  I  have  already  quoted  the  rest  of  the  de 
scription  in  which  she  tells  her  correspondent  that  she 
has  seen  "  the  Park  and  the  pallass  of  Saint  Gemses, 
.  .  .  and  the  hillyfents,  and  pyeball  ass,  and  all  the 
rest  of  the  royal  family." 

A  little  misadventure  that  happened  to  Humphry 
Clinker  is  thus  described  by  Mrs.  Jenkins  : 

"  He  was  tuck  up  for  a  rubbery  and  had  before 
gustass  Bunhard,  who  made  his  mittamouse,  and  the 
pore  youth  was  sent  to  prison  upon  the  false  oaf  of  a 
willain,  that  wanted  to  sware  his  life  away  for  the 
looker  of  Cain." 

And  another  that  happened  to  herself: 

"  I  went  in  the  morning  to  a  private  place  along 
with  the  house-maid,  and  we  bathed  in  our  birthday 
soot,  after  the  fashion  of  the  country  (Scotland)  ;  and 
behold,  whilst  we  dabbled  in  the  loff,  Sir  George  Coon 
started  up  with  a  gun  ;  but  we  clapt  our  hands  to  our 
faces,  and  passed  by  him  to  the  place  where  we  had 
left  our  smocks.  —  A  civil  gentleman  would  have 
turned  his  head  another  way. — My  comfit  is,  he  knew 
not  which  was  which  ;  and,  as  the  saying  is,  all  cats 
in  the  dark  are  gray" 

The  description  of  the  person  of  Miss  Tabitha 


292  NOVELS  AND  NOVELISTS. 

Bramble,  as   given   by  her  nephew,  is  worth  quot 
ing: 

"  She  is  tall,  raw-boned,  awkward,  flat-chested, 
and  stooping ;  her  complexion  is  sallow  and  freckled ; 
her  eyes  are  not  gray  but  greenish,  like  those  of  a 
cat,  and  generally  inflamed ;  her  hair  is  of  a  sandy, 
or  rather  dusty  hue;  her  forehead  low;  her  nose  long, 
sharp,  and  toward  the  extremity  always  red  in  cool 
weather ;  her  lips  skinny ;  her  mouth  extensive  ;  her 
teeth  straggling  and  loose,  of  various  colors  and  con 
formation  ;  and  her  long  neck  shrivelled  into  a  thou 
sand  wrinkles." 

Such  was  the  beauteous  spinster  of  forty-five  who 
ensnared  at  last  the  immortal  Lismahago — a  tall  mea 
gre  figure,  with  thighs  like  those  of  a  grasshopper,  very 
narrow  in  the  shoulders  and  very  thick  in  the  calves 
of  the  legs,  with  a  face  half  a  yard  in  length,  "  brown 
and  shrivelled,  with  projecting  cheek-bones,  little  gray 
eyes  of  a  greenish  hue,  a  large  hook  nose,  a  pointed 
chin,  a  mouth  from  ear  to  ear,  very  ill-furnished  with 
teeth,  and  a  high,  narrow  forehead,  well  furnished 
with  wrinkles.""  At  this  attractive  cavalier  Tabitha 
makes  a  dead  set,  and  she  hooks  her  fish  at  last. 
u  Who  would  have  thought,"  asks  Winifred  Jenkins, 
"  that  mistress,  after  all  the  pains  taken  for  the  good 
of  her  priisias  sole,  would  go  for  to  throw  away  her 


BATH  IN  'HUMPHRY  CLINKER.'  293 

poor  body  ?  That  she  would  cast  the  Leys  of  infec 
tion  upon  such  a  carraying  crow  as  Lishmihago !  as 
old  as  Matthewsullin,  as  dry  as  a  red  herring,  and  as 
pore  as  a  starved  veezel.  O  Molly,  hadst  thou  seen 
him  come  down  the  ladder  in  a  shurt  so  scanty  that  it 
could  not  kiver  his  nakedness !  "  And  when  they  are 
married  they  sit  in  state  in  the  nuptial  couch  while 
the  benediction  posset  is  drunk  and  a  cake  is  broken 
over  the  head  of  Mrs.  Tabitha  Lismahago. 

Although,  upon  the  whole,  the  '  Expedition  of 
Humphry  Clinker '  is  the  most  amusing  of  Smollett's 
works,  arid  we  can  never  tire  of  laughing  at  such  char 
acters  as  Tabitha  Bramble,  and  Winifred  Jenkins,  and 
Lieutenant  Lismahago,  a  considerable  part  of  the  book 
is  nothing  more  than  an  itinerary  through  England 
and  Scotland,  which  enables  the  author  to  give  a  sar 
castic  description  of  the  towns,  and  vent  his  spleen 
upon  the  inhabitants.  Thus,  the  buildings  at  Bath 
"  look  like  the  wreck  of  streets  and  squares  disjointed 
by  an  earthquake,  which  hath  broken  the  ground  into 
a  variety  of  hills  and  hillocks,  or  as  if  some  Gothic 
devil  had  stuffed  them  altogether  in  a  bag,  and  left 
them  to  stand  higgledy-piggledy,  just  as  chance  di 
rected.  .  .  .  Every  upstart  of  fortune,  harnessed  in 
the  trappings  of  the  mode,  presents  himself  at  Bath, 
as  in  the  very  focus  of  observation.  Clerks  and  fac- 


294:  NOVELS  AND  NOVELISTS. 

tors  from  the  East  Indies,  loaded  with  the  spoils  of 
plundered  provinces  ;  planters,  negro  -  drivers,  and 
hucksters  from  our  American  plantations,  enriched 
they  know  not  how ;  agents,  commissaries,  and  con 
tractors,  who  have  fattened  in  two  successive  wars  on 
the  blood  of  the  nation  ;  usurers,  brokers,  and  jobbers 
of  every  kind  ;  men  of  low  birth  and  no  breeding  have 
found  themselves  suddenly  translated  into  a  state  of 
affluence  unknown  to  former  ages ;  and  no  wonder 
that  their  brain  should  be  intoxicated  with  pride, 
vanity,  and  presumption."  And  Mrs.  Winifred  Jen 
kins  gives  her  view  of  the  City  of  Waters.  "  O  Molly  ! 
you  that  live  in  the  country  have  no  deception  of  our 
doings  at  Bath.  .  .  .  Dear  girl,  I  have  seen  all  the 
fine  shows :  the  Prades,  the  Squires,  and  the  Circlis, 
the  Crashit,  the  Hottogon,  and  Bloody  Buildings,  and 
Harry  King's  Row,  and  I  have  been  twice  in  the  Bath 
with  mistress,  and  ne'er  a  smoak  upon  our  backs,  hus 
sy."  As  to  £  Harrigate '  (sic)  Mr.  Bramble  says  that 
it  "  is  a  wild  common,  bare  and  bleak,  without  tree  or 
shrub  or  the  least  sign  of  cultivation  ;  and  the  people 
who  come  to  drink  the  water  are  crowded  together  in 
paltry  inns,  where  the  few  tolerable  rooms  are  monop 
olized  by  the  friends  and  favorites  of  the  house,  and 
all  the  rest  of  the  lodgers  are  obliged  to  put  up  with 
dirty  holes  where  there  is  neither  space,  air,  nor  con- 


EDINBURGH  IN  'HUMPHRY  CLINKER.'        295 

venience."  The  water  was  of  course  then  as  disagree 
able  as  it  is  now.  "  Some  people  say  it  smells  of  rot 
ten  eggs  ;  and  others  compare  it  to  the  scouring  of  a 
foul  gun."  A  visit  to  Scarborough  furnishes  an  ex 
cuse  for  an  elaborate  description  of  a  bathing-machine, 
which  seems  then  to  have  been  a  thing  unknown  else 
where.  York  Minster  gives  occasion  for  an  attack 
upon  Gothic  architecture,  which  is  called  "  preposter 
ous  in  a  country  like  England,  where  the  air  is  exter 
nally  loaded  with  vapors,  and  where  of  consequence  the 
builder's  intention  should  be  to  keep  the  people  dry 
and  warm."  And  we  have  the  following  astounding 
description  of  a  cathedral :  "  The  external  appearance 
of  an  old  cathedral  cannot  but  be  displeasing  to  the 
eye  of  every  man  who  has  any  idea  of  propriety  and 
proportion,  even  though  he  may  be  ignorant  of  archi 
tecture  as  a  science ;  and  the  long,  slender  spire  puts 
one  in  inind  of  a  criminal  impaled  with  a  sharp  stake 
rising  up  through  his  shoulder !  "  We  need  not  won 
der,  therefore,  that  the  cathedral  of  Durham  is  dis 
missed  as  "  a  huge,  gloomy  pile  ;  "  but  it  is  undoubt 
edly  true  at  the  present  day,  as  when  Mr.  Matthew 
Bramble  and  his  party  visited  that  city,  that  "  the 
streets  are  generally  narrow,  dark,  and  unpleasant." 
Edinburgh  is  fairly  dealt  with,  and  praised  for  its  ro 
mantic  site,  its  castle,  and  its  palace.  The  Canongate 


296  NOVELS  AND  NOVELISTS. 

"  would  be  undoubtedly  one  of  the  noblest  streets  in 
Europe,  if  an  ugly  mass  of  mean  buildings,  called  the 
Lueken-booths,  had  not  thrust  itself,  by  what  accident 
I  know  not,  into  the  middle  of  the  way,  like  Middle 
Row  in  Holborn."  But  "  the  first  thing  that  strikes 
the  nose  of  a  stranger  shall  be  nameless ; "  and  the 
state  of  the  stairs  leading  to  the  flat*  was  such  that 
"  a  man  must  tread  with  great  circumspection  to  get 
safe  housed  with  unpolluted  shoes."  It  would  not  be 
possible  to  quote  the  confidential  letter  of  Winifred 
Jenkins  to  Mrs.  Mary  Jones  at  Brambleton  Hall,  on 
the  subject.  It  has  all  the  vigor  and  fidelity  of  a 
Dutch  picture,  but  tempora  rmitantur,  and  it  must  be 
read  in  private.  Linlithgow  has  "  an  elegant  royal 
palace,  which  is  now  gone  to  decay,  as  well  as  the 
town  itself;  "  but  "  Glasgow  is  the  pride  of  Scotland," 
and,  according  to  Mr.  Bramble's  opinion — or,  in  other 
words,  the  opinion  of  Dr.  Smollett  himself — it  is  "  one 
of  the  prettiest  towns  in  Europe."  He  thinks  that  its 
cathedral  may  be  compared  with  York  Minster  or 
"Westminster,  and  computes  the  number  of  inhabitants 
at  thirty  thousand — they  now  amount  to  more  than 
four  hundred  thousand.  But  the  journey  is  dull 
enough  as  a  narrative,  although  it  is  enlivened  by 
some  ludicrous  adventures ;  as,  for  instance,  that  in 
which  the  kitchen  chimney  catches  fire  at  night,  and 


'THE  SPIRITUAL  QUIXOTE.'  297 

the  women  rush  out  in  dishabille,  when  Tabitha  Bram 
ble,  in  her  under-petticoat,  endeavors  to  lay  hold  of 
Mr.  Micklewhimmen,  and  he  pushes  her  down,  crying 
out,  "  N"a,  na,  gude  faith,  charity  begins  at  hame  !  " 
and  Mrs.  Winifred  Jenkins  falls  from  the  ladder  into 
the  arms  of  Humphry  Clinker. 

The  Brambles  visit,  in  the  course  of  their  travels, 
the  seat  of  a  country  gentleman  in  Argyleshire,  where 
"  the  great  hall,  paved  with  flat  stones,  serves  not  only 
for  a  dining-room  but  also  for  a  bedchamber  to  gentle 
men  dependants  and  hangers-on  of  the  family.  At 
night  half  a  dozen  occasional  beds  are  ranged  on  each 
side  along  the  wall.  These  are  made  of  fresh  heath, 
pulled  up  by  the  roots,  and  disposed  in  such  manner 
as  to  make  a  very  agreeable  couch,  where  they  lie 
without  any  covering  but  the  plaid." 

I  have  previously  alluded  to  the  mode  in  which 
Smollett,  in  his  '  Humphry  Clinker,'  attacked  the  doc 
trines  of  the  new  sect ;  and  it  was  to  ridicule  them 
that  a  clergyman  named  Graves  wrote  his  novel  called 
'  The  Spiritual  Quixote,'  the  hero  of  which  is  Geoffrey 
Wildgoose,  a  young  man  of  a  respectable  family  and 
small  estate,  who,  having  picked  up  some  old  volumes 
of  puritan  divinity,  such  as  '  Crumbs  of  Comfort,' 
<  Honeycombs  for  the  Elect,'  the  '  Marrow  of  Divinity,' 
the  i  Spiritual  Eye  Salve  and  Cordials  for  the  Saints,' 


298  NOVELS  AND  NOVELISTS. 

and  a  book  of  Baxter  with  an  unmentionable  name, 
resolves  to  sally  fojjth  and  convert  his  benighted  fel 
low-countrymen  in  the  highways  and  by-ways  of  Eng 
land.  He  is  accompanied  by  Jeremiah  Tugwell,  a 
cobbler,  who  acts  as  a  sort  of  Sancho  Panza,  and  they 
visit  Gloucester,  Bath,  and  Bristol,  where  they  are 
involved  in  various  adventures  more  creditable  to  the 
zeal  of  Wildgoose  than  his  discretion. 

He  holds  such  books  as  '  Tillotson's  Sermons  '  and 
the  4  "Whole  Duty  of  Man  '  in  sovereign  contempt,  and 
asserts  that  it  would  be  as  profitable  to  read  the 
i  Seven  Champions '  or  '  Jack  the  Giant  Killer '  as 
Tillotson,  who,  he  says,  quoting  Whitefield  himself, 
knew  no  more  of  Christianity  than  Mohammed. 

It  is,  however,  a  stupid  book ;  the  attempts  at 
satire  are  miserably  poor,  and  the  adventures  of  Wild- 
goose  and  his  companion  show  neither  wit  nor  inven 
tion. 


CHAPTEE  X. 

GOLDSMITH. —  ' THE  VICAR  OF  WAKEFIELD.1  —  CHARACTER  OF 
LATER  NOVELS  AND  ROMANCES.— MACKENZIE.— '  THE  MAN  OF 
FEELING,1  'THE  MAN  OF  THE  WORLD,1  AND  'JULIA  DE  ROU- 
BIGNE.1— MISS  BURNEY.— 'EVELINA,1  AND  ' CECILIA.1— MISS  EDGE- 
WORTH.— '  BELINDA.1— JANE  AUSTEN.— USES  OF  NOVELS.— RE- 
SPONSIBILITY  OF  THE  NOVELIST. 

IT  is  a  sensible  relief  to  turn  from  the  maudlin 
sentimentality  of  Richardson  and  the  coarseness  of 
Fielding  and  Smollett,  to  the  purity  of  the  pages  of 
Goldsmith.  We  seem  to  breathe  all  at  once 

'•An  ampler  ether,  a  diviner  air," 

and  have  as  sweet  a  picture  as  was  ever  drawn  of  fam 
ily  life  in  a  country  parsonage,  with  its  joys  and  sor 
rows,  its  trials  and  rewards.  One  great  charm  of  the 
i  Vicar  of  "Wakefield  '  is  its  gentle  irony — very  differ-  ,, 
cut  indeed  from  the  vicious  double  entendre  of  Swift 
or  Sterne,  where  the  implied  meaning  is  almost  al 
ways  impure.  With  all  the  childlike  simplicity  of 
Dr.  Primrose,  there  is  in  him  an  tinder-current  of 
sound  good  sense,  which  makes  him  fully  sensible  of 
the  folly  of  his  wife  and  daughters,  while  he  indulges 


300  NOVELS  AND  NOVELISTS. 

their  vanity  and  smiles  at  their  credulity.  With  what 
a  soft  touch  of  sarcasm  he  describes  the  good  lady 
whom  he  chose,  as  she  did  her  wedding-gown,  not  for 
a  fine  glossy  surface,  but  such  qualities  as  would  wear 
well !  "  She  could  read  any  English  book  without 
much  spelling ;  but  for  pickling,  preserving,  and 
cookery,  none  could  excel  her.  She  prided  herself 
upon  being  an  excellent  contriver  in  housekeeping ; 
though  I  could  never  find  that  we  grew  richer  with 
all  her  contrivances."  The  key  to  his  character  is,  I 
think,  contained  in  the  following  sentence  about  his 
wife,  when  he  tells  us  how  she  began  to  build  castles 
in  the  air  when  Mr.  Burchell  had  rescued  their  young 
est  daughter,  Sophia,  from  drowning,  and  she  said 
that  if  he  had  birth  and  fortune  to  entitle  him  to 
match  into  such  a  family  as  theirs,  she  knew  no  man 
she  would  sooner  fix  upon.  "  I  could  not  but  smile 
to  hear  her  talk  in  this  lofty  strain  ;  but  I  was  never 
much  displeased  with  those  harmless  delusions  that 
tend  to  make  us  more  happy."  When,  after  the  loss 
of  his  fortune,  and  the  removal  of  his  family  to  an  hum 
bler  abode,  his  wife  and  daughters  come  down-stairs 
on  Sunday  morning  dressed  out  in  all  their  former 
finery,  "  their  hair  plastered  up  with  pomatum,  their 
faces  patched  to  taste,  their  trains  bundled  up  in  a 
heap  behind,  and  rustling  at  every  motion,"  the  way 


'THE   VICAR  OF  WAKEFIELD.'  301 

in  which  Dr.  Primrose  rebukes  their  vanity  is  by 
ordering  his  son,  with  an  important  air,  to  call  their 
coach.  "  '  Surely,  my  dear,  you  jest,'  cried  my  wife, 
4 we  can  walk  perfectly  well:  we  want  no  coach  to 
carry  us  now.'  *  You  mistake,  child,'  returned  I,  '  we 
do  want  a  coach ;  for  if  we  walk  to  church  in  this 
trim,  the  very  children  in  the  parish  will  hoot  after 
us ; ' :"  and  he  ends  with  the  wise  apothegm,  "  I  do 
not  know  whether  such  flouncing  and  shredding  is 
becoming,  even  in  the  rich,  if  we  consider,  upon  a 
moderate  calculation,  that  the  nakedness  of  the  indi 
gent  world  may  be  clothed  from  the  trimmings  of  tbe 
vain."  When  Squire  Thornhill  was  expected  to  pay 
them  a  visit,  and  Mrs.  Primrose  went  to  make  the 
venison  pasty,  the  Yicar  observed  his  daughters  busy 
cooking  something  over  the  fire.  He  at  first  thought 
that  they  were  assisting  their  mother,  but  little  Dick 
whispered  that  they  were  making  a  wash  for  their 
faces.  Washes  he  abominated.  "  I  therefore  ap 
proached  my  chair  by  sly  degrees  to  the  fire,  and, 
grasping  the  poker,  as  if  it  wanted  mending,  seem 
ingly,  by  accident,  overturned  the  whole  composition, 
and  it  was  too  late  to  begin  another." 
^  The  introduction  into  this  scene  of  innocent  hap 
piness  of  the  two  town  ladies — or  rather  ladies  of  the 
town — Lady  Blarney  and  Miss  Carolina  Wilhelmina 


302  NOVELS  AND  NOVELISTS. 

'Amelia  Skeggs,  is  characteristic  of  the  manners  of  the 
age  ;  but  it  unpleasantly  breaks  in  upon  the  harmony 
of  the  tale.  Their  attempt  at  personation  is  too  gross, 
and  no  family,  who  were  not  all  idiots,  could  have 
been  deceived  as  to  their  real  character.  But  Dr. 
Primrose  only  very  gently  hints  his  suspicions.  "  One 
of  them,  I  thought,  expressed  her  sentiments  upon 
this  occasion  in  a  very  coarse  manner,  when  she  ob 
served  that  '  by  the  living  jingo  she  was  all  of  a  muck 
of  sweat.' '  Possibly  the  family  may  have  thought 
themselves  disqualified  by  their  rustic  habits  from  ap 
preciating  the  wit  of  conversation  in  fashionable  life, 
as  retailed  by  the  two  strangers,  and  may  have  fancied 
that  something  more  was  meant  than  met  the  ear, 
when  they  were  informed  by  them  that  u  the  next 
morning  my  Lord  Duke  cried  out  three  times  to  his 
valet  de  chambre, '  Jernigan,  Jernigan,  Jernigan,  bring 
me  my  garters.' ' 

How  exquisitely  the  story  is  told  of  Moses  and  the 
colt  and  the  gross  of  green  spectacles  !  Here,  again, 
Dr.  Primrose's  good  sense  and  temper  are  finely  con 
trasted  with  his  wife's  impetuous  anger.  "  '  A  fig  for 
the  silver  rims,'  said  my  wife  in  a  passion ;  '  I  dare 
swear  they  won't  sell  for  above  half  the  money  at  the 
rate  of  broken  silver,  five  shillings  the  ounce.'  '  You 
need  be  under  no  uneasiness,'  cried  I,  (  about  selling 


'THE   VICAR   OF  WAKEFIELD.'  303 

the  rims  ;  for  they  are  not  worth  sixpence,  for  I  per 
ceive  they  are  only  copper  varnished  over.'  '  What ! ' 
cried  my  wife, c  not  silver,  the  rims  not  silver ! '  '  No,' 
cried  I,  i  no  more  silver  than  your  saucepan.'  '  And 
so,'  returned  she,  '  we  have  parted  with  the  colt,  and 
have  only  got  a  gross  of  green  spectacles,  with  copper 
rims  and  shagreen  cases  !  A  murrain  take  such  trump 
ery  !  The  blockhead  has  been  imposed  upon,  and 
should  have  known  his  company  better.'  '  There,  my 
dear,'  cried  I,  '  you  are  wrong ;  he  should  not  have 
known  them  at  all.'  '  Marry,  hang  the  idiot,'  returned 
she,  'to  bring  such  stuff!  If  I  had  them,  I  would 
throw  them  into  the  fire  !  '  '  There,  again,  you  are 
wrong,  my  dear,'  cried  I, '  for  though  they  are  copper, 
we  will  keep  them  by  us,  as  copper  spectacles,  you 
know,  are  better  than  nothing.' ' 

But,  however  Dr.  Primrose  may  have  plumed  him 
self  on  his  worldly  wisdom,  he,  like  his  son  Moses,  was 
destined  to  be  tricked  by  the  same  sharper — and  that, 
too,  in  the  matter  of  the  sale  of  a  horse.  He  takes 
him  to  the  fair,  and  puts  him  through  his  paces — but 
the  would-be  purchasers  find  so  many  faults  in  him — 
one  declaring  that  he  had  a  spavin  ;  another  that  he 
had  a  wind-gall ;  others  that  he  had  the  botts — that 
at  last  his  owner  begins  to  have  a  most  hearty  con 
tempt  for  the  poor  animal  himself.  At  this  juncture, 


304:  NOVELS  AND  NOVELISTS. 

the  inimitable  Epliraim  Jenkinson.  appears  on  the 
scene,  "  a  venerable  old  man,  wholly  intent  over  a 
book  which  he  was  reading ;  his  locks  of  silver  gray 
venerably  shaded  his  temples,  and  his  green  old  age 
seemed  to  be  the  result  of  health  and  temperance." 
We  all  know  how  the  scoundrel  swindled  the  Yicar 
out  of  his  horse,  by  palming  off  upon  him  a  bill  pay 
able  at  sight  upon  farmer  Flamborough.  But  who 
could  doubt  the  honesty  of  a  man  who  could  boast  of 
his  intimacy  with  honest  Flamborough — and  who 
could  give  such  a  convincing  proof  of  their  friendship 
as  to  be  able  to  say,  "  I  remember,  I  always  beat  him 
at  three  jumps  ;  but  he  could  hop  on  one  leg  farther 
than  I  ? "  And  this,  too,  after  he  had  disarmed  all  sus 
picion  by  asking  the  Doctor  if  he  was  in  any  way  re 
lated  to  the  great  Primrose,  that  courageous  monoga 
mist,  who  had  been  the  bulwark  of  the  Church.  What 
a  flood  of  nonsensical  learning  he  then  poured  out 
upon  him,  quoting  the  opinions  of  Sanchoniathon, 
Manetho,  Berosus,  and  Ocellus  Lucanus,  and  ending 
with  Greek  !  "  c  But,  sir,  I  ask  pardon  ;  I  am  stray 
ing  from  the  question/  That  he  actually  was ;  nor 
could  I  for  my  life  see  how  the  creation  of  the  world 
had  any  thing  to  do  with  the  business  I  was  talking 
of ;  but  it  was  sufficient  to  show  that  he  was  a  man 
of  letters,  and  I  now  reverenced  him  the  more." 


'THE  VICAR  OF  WAKEFIELD.'  305 

The  only  fault  in  the  plot  of  the  *  Yicar  of  Wake- 
field '  is  the  way  in  which  the  story  is  huddled  up  at 
the  close,  and  the  lavish  profusion  with  which,  at  the 
last,  the  favors  of  Fortune  are  showered  down  upon 
the  family  which  has  so  long  "been  in  the  lowest 
depths  of  adversity.  "  It  never  rains  but  it  pours  " 
is  an  adage  much  more  applicable  to  the  evils  than 
to  the  blessings  of  life — but  it  fully  expresses  the 
rapid  succession  of  good-luck  which  all  of  a  sudden 
fails  to  the  lot  of  the  Primrose  family.  When  the 
Yicar  and  his  son  George  are  beggars  and  in  jail, 
George  is  released  "  from  the  incumbrances  of  jus 
tice,"  or,  in  other  words,  set  free,  because  the  person 
he  was  supposed  to  have  wounded  was  detected  to  be 
an  impostor ;  Sir  William  Thornhill  is  revealed  in  the 
person  of  Mr.  Burchell,  and  offers  his  hand  to  Sophia. 
Olivia,  who  was  thought  to  be  dead  after  being  vilely 
seduced,  turns  out  to  be  alive,  and  the  lawfully-mar 
ried  wife  of  her  would-be  betrayer — and  this  by  the 
evidence  of  the  quondam  swindler,  Ephraim  Jen  kin- 
son — and  almost  at  the  same  moment  newrs  arrives 
that  the  merchant  whose  failure  had  caused  Dr.  Prim 
rose  the  loss  of  his  fortune,  had  been  arrested,  and 
given  up  property  which  was  more  than  sufficient  to 
pay  all  his  creditors.  And  so  the  curtain  falls  upon 
a  happy  scene  where  the  good  Doctor  has  the  pleasure 


306  NOVELS  AKD  NOVELISTS. 

of  seeing  all  his  family  assembled  once  more  by  a 
cheerful  fireside.  "  My  two  little  girls  sat  upon  each 
knee,  the  rest  of  the  company  by  their  partners.  I 
had  nothing  now  on  this  side  of  the  grave  to  wisli 
for;  all  my  cares  were  over,  my  pleasure  was  un 
speakable.  It  only  remained  that  my  gratitude  in 
good  fortune  should  exceed  my  former  submission  in 
adversity." 

I  have  already  alluded  to  the  '  Simple  Story,'  by 
Mrs.  Inchbald,  '  The  Female  Quixote,'  by  Mrs.  Len 
nox,  the  '  Spiritual  Quixote,'  by  Graves,  and  the 
'Fool  of  Quality,'  by  Brooke — and  besides  these  I 
hardly  know  a  novelist  or  a  novel  after  the  time  of 
Goldsmith  w^orth  mentioning  until  we  come  to  Mac 
kenzie  and  Miss  Burney.  At  all  events,  I  know  of 
no  novels  in  the  intermediate  period  which  throw 
light  upon  the  manners  and  opinions  of  the  age,  ex 
cept  in  so  far  as  their  general  worthlessness  proves 
the  low  state  of  public  taste.  In  a  paper  in  the  i  Mi 
crocosm  '  written  by  Canning,  at  Eton,  in  1787,  he 
describes  the  novels  of  his  day  as  replete  with  "sto 
ries  without  invention,  anecdotes  without  novelty, 
observations  without  aptness,  and  reflections  without 
morality."  To  how  many  novels  of  the  present  day 
would  the  same  criticism  not  apply  ?  I  say  nothing 
of  such  romances  as  the  i  Castle  of  O  trail  to'  of  Hor- 


THE  EADCLIFFE  SCHOOL.  307 

ace  "Walpole,  wliicli  some  think  was  intended  as  a 
burlesque,  and  the  i  Old  English  Baron  '  of  Clara 
Reeve,  and  the  c  Romance  of  the  Forest '  and  '  Mys 
teries  of  Udolpho '  of  Mrs.  Radcliffe.  They  are  too 
unreal  to  be  of  any  service  for  my  purpose,  and  it  is 
enough,  to  say  that  no  young  gentleman  or  young 
lady  at  the  present  day  is  likely  to  be  frightened  at 
night  and  disturbed  in  sleep  by  reading  their  shadowy 
horrors. 

This  style  of  romances  is  admirably  parodied  by 
Miss  Austen  in  her  novel  of  '  Northanger  Abbey,' 
•where  Catherine  Morland  pays  her  first  visit  to  the 
Tilneys  at  the  Abbey,  a  most  comfortable  house  fitted 
up  with  all  the  appliances  of  modern  luxury ;  but 
which,  misled  by  the  name,  her  imagination  has 
painted  as  full  of  trap-doors,  sliding  panels,  secret 
passages,  and  concealed  mysteries.*  Henry  Tilney 
tells  her  that  she  will  have  to  sleep  in  a  bedroom 
apart  from  the  rest  of  the  family,  and  asks,  "  Will  not 
your  mind  misgive  you  when  you  find  yourself  in  this 
gloomy  chamber,  too  lofty  and  extensive  for  you,  with 
only  the  feeble  rays  of  a  single  lamp  to  take  in  its 
size,  its  walls  hung  with  tapestry  exhibiting  figures  as 

*  I  am  told  by  a  friend,  most  competent  to  give  an  opinion, 
that  Barrett's  '  Heroine '  is  one  of  the  best  parodies  of  these 
romances,  but  I  have  not  seen  the  book. 


308  NOVELS  AND  NOVELISTS. 

large  as  life,  and  the  bed,  of  dark-green  stuff  or  pur 
ple  velvet,  presenting  even  a  funereal  appearance  ? 
"Will  not  your  heart  sink  within  you  ?  .  .  .  You  will 
proceed  into  this  small  vaulted  room,  and  through 
this  into  several  others,  without  perceiving  any  thing 
very  remarkable.  In  one,  perhaps,  there  may  be  a 
dagger,  in  another  a  few  drops  of  blood,  and  in  a 
third  the  remains  of  some  instrument  of  torture ;  but 
there  being  nothing  in  all  this  out  of  the  common 
w$y,  and  your  lamp  being  nearly  exhausted,  you  will 
return  toward  your  own  apartment.  In  repassing 
through  the  small  vaulted  room,  however,  your  eyes 
will  be  attracted  toward  a  large,  old-fashioned  cabinet 
of  ebony  and  gold,  which,  though  narrowly  examin 
ing  the  furniture  before,  you  had  passed  unnoticed. 
Impelled  by  an  irresistible  presentiment,  you  will 
eagerly  advance  to  it,  unlock  its  folding  doors,  and 
search  into  every  drawer ;  but  for  some  time  without 
discovering  any  thing  of  importance — perhaps  noth 
ing  but  a  considerable  hoard  of  diamonds.  At  last, 
however,  by  touching  a  secret  spring,  an  inner  com 
partment  will  open,  a  roll  of  paper  appears,  you 
seize  it — it  contains  many  sheets  of  manuscript — you 
hasten  with  the  precious  treasure  into  your  own  cham 
ber  ;  but  scarcely  have  you  been  able  to  decipher, 
4  Oh  thou,  whosoever  thou  mayest  be,  into  whose 


ROMANCES  PARODIED.  309 

hands  these  memorials  of  the  wretched  Matilda  may 
fall,'  when  your  lamp  suddenly  expires  in  the  socket, 
and  leaves  you  in  total  darkness." 

After  this  pleasant  description,  Catherine  retires 
to  her  bedroom  to  dress  for  dinner,  and  she  is  about  to 
unpack  her  trunk,  "  when  her  eye  suddenly  fell  on  a 
large  high  chest,  standing  back  in  a  deep  recess  on 
one  side  of  the  fireplace."  She  starts  in  wonder  at 
the  sight.  Here  was  the  very  realization  of  Henry's 
imaginary  scene.  "  The  lock  was  silver,  though  tar 
nished  from  age  ;  at  each  end  were  the  imperfect  re 
mains  of  handles  also  of  silver,  broken  perhaps  pre 
maturely  by  some  strange  violence  ;  and  in  the  centre 
of  the  lid  was  a  mysterious  cipher  in  the  same  metal." 
The  dinner-bell,  however,  rings,  and  Catherine  has  no 
time  to  satisfy  her  eager  curiosity.  She  must  wait 
until  bedtime,  and  then  when  she  goes  to  her  apart 
ment  her  eyes  are  fascinated  by  the  appearance  of  a 
high,  old-fashioned,  black  cabinet,  which  she  had  not 

O      7  7  j 

observed  before.  The  key  is  in  the  door,  and  with 
trembling  eagerness  she  tries  to  unlock  it.  After 
some  difficulty  she  succeeds,  and  she  discovers  a  range 
of  small  drawers,  which  she  examines,  and  at  last 
"  her  quick  eyes  fell  on  a  roll  of  paper  pushed  back 
into  the  farther  part  of  the  cavity,  apparently  for  con 
cealment,  and  her  feelings  at  that  moment  were  in- 


310  NOVELS  AND  NOVELISTS. 

describable.  Her  heart  fluttered,  her  knees  trembled, 
and  her  cheeks  grew  pale."  She  seizes  the  manu 
script,  and  in  her  nervous  anxiety  snuffs  out  the  can 
dle,  and,  as  the  fire  has  died  away,  she  is  left  in  total 
darkness.  She  creeps  into  bed,  trembling  from  head 
to  foot,  while  a  howling  storm  beats  against  the  win 
dows.  In  the  morning  she  rushes  to  the  cabinet  and 
clutches  the  manuscript.  "  Her  greedy  eye  glanced 
rapidly  over  a  page.  She  started  at  its  import.  Could 
it  be  possible,  or  did  not  her  senses  play  her  false  ? 
An  inventory  of  linen,  in  coarse  and  modern  char 
acters,  seemed  all  that  was  before  her!  If  the  evi 
dence  of  sight  might  be  trusted,  she  held  a  washing- 
bill  in  her  hand.  She  seized  another  sheet  and  saw 
the  same  articles,  with  little  variation ;  a  third,  a 
fourth,  and  a  fifth,  presented  nothing  new.  Shirts, 
stockings,  cravats,  and  waistcoats,  faced  her  in  each. 
Two  others,  penned  by  the  same  hand,  marked  an  ex 
penditure  scarcely  more  interesting,  in  letters,  hair- 
powder,  shoe-string,  and  breeches-ball.  And  the  larger 
sheet,  which  enclosed  the  rest,  seemed,  by  its  first 
cramp  line,  '  To  poultice  chestnut  mare,'  a  farrier's 
bill !  " 

From  the  description  given  by  Canning  of  the 
novels  of  his  youthful  days  must  be  excepted  '  The 
Man  of  Feeling,'  <  The  Man  of  the  World,'  and  «  Julia 


'THE  MAN  OF  FEELING.'  311 

de  Roubigne,'  by  Mackenzie.  I  do  not  know  the  ex- 
tict  dates  when  they  were  published,  but  I  believe 
before  the  end  of  the  century,  and  in  point  of  style 
they  deserve  high  praise.  '  The  Man  of  Feeling,'  in 
deed,  can  hardly  be  called  a  novel,  for  it  has  no  plot, 
and  consists  only  of  disjointed  fragments ;  the  manu 
script  being  assumed  to  have  been  used  as  wadding 
for  his  gun  by  a  sporting  curate.  It  reminds  us  in  its 
tone  of  Sterne's  '  Sentimental  Journey,'  and  contains 
merely  a  few  unconnected  scenes  in  which  the  Man 
of  Feeling  alleviates  distress  and  indulges  in  senti 
ments  of  pity.  The  hero  is  so  shy  and  bashful  that  he 
cannot  muster  courage  to  declare  his  attachment  to 
the  lady  whom  he  loves  until  he  is  on  his  death-bed, 
when  she  reciprocates  the  passion  ;  but  it  is  too  late. 
He  visits  Bedlam,  where  the  insane  were  treated  more 
like  wild  beasts  than  men.  "  The  clanking  of  chains, 
the  wildness  of  their  cries,  and  the  imprecations  which 
some  of  them  uttered,  formed  a  scene  inexpressibly 
shocking."  And  such  scenes  might  then,  and  for  a 
long  time  afterward,  be  witnessed  in  every  lunatic- 
asylum  in  the  kingdom.  "  Terror,  and  not  kindness, 
was  the  mode  in  which  the  poor  afflicted  creatures 
were  treated,  and  the  result,  of  course,  was  that  few 
were  restored  to  their  senses." 

6  The  Man  of  the  World  '  is  a  regularly-constructed 


312  NOVELS  AND  NOVELISTS. 

novel,  and  is  much  more  interesting  than  the  desultory 
sketches  of  '  The  Man  of  Feeling,'  although  the  chief 
incidents  are  robbery,  seduction,  and  attempted  incest. 
A  country  clergyman  named  Annesley  has  two  chil 
dren,  a  son  and  daughter,  named  William  and  Harriet. 
The  squire  of  the  parish  where  he  resides  is  a  young 
baronet,  Sir  Thomas  Sindall,  who  is  studying  at  Ox 
ford,  but  in  the  course  of  his  vacations  at  home  is 
smitten  by  the  beauty  of  Harriet,  and  determines  if 
possible  to  seduce  her.  To  effect  this  purpose  he 
thinks  it  necessary  to  undermine  the  principles  of  her 
brother,  and  get  him  into  his  power.  He  therefore 
persuades  the  father  to  send  him  to  Oxford,  where, 
being  introduced  by  the  baronet  into  a  loose  set  of 
young  men,  he  becomes  a  gambler,  and  is  extricated 
from  his  debts  by  advances  from  Sir  Thomas  Sindall. 
At  last,  on  a  pretended  promise  of  being  engaged  as  a 
travelling  tutor,  he  is  inveigled  to  London,  where  he 
is  again  entrapped  into  play,  and  stripped  of  his  last 
shilling.  Driven  to  desperation,  he  possesses  himself 
of  a  pistol,  attacks  the  "  chair  "  of  the  man  who  had 
won  his  money  in  the  streets  at  night,  and  succeeds  in 
robbing  him.  He  is,  however,  tracked  to  his  lodgings, 
arrested,  and  thrown  into  Newgate  to  take  his  trial 
for  the  capital  felony.  His  sister  Harriet  comes  to 
town  to  visit  him  in  prison,  and  there  meets  Sir  Thorn- 


'THE  MAN  OF  THE  WOKLD.'  313 

as,  who  pretends  the  most  sincere  friendship  and  pity. 
William  Annesley  is  arraigned,  and  pleads  guilty.  Sen 
tence  of  death  is  passed,  but  the  punishment  is  com 
muted  to  transportation  for  twelve  years.  Harriet 
leaves  London  to  return  to  her  father's  house,  but  on 
the  road  is  taken  to  a  country  inn,  where  Sir  Thomas, 
who,  with  her  female  attendant,  had  accompanied  her, 
overpowers  her  reason  by  means  of  drugs,  and  effects 
her  ruin.  She  reaches  home  and  conceals  her  shame 
from  her  father,  but  in  the  course  of  time  becomes  a 
mother,  and  the  child  is  taken  away  under  the  care  of 
a  woman.  Nothing  further  is  heard  of  them,  and  a 
cloak  and  other  clothes  found  by  the  side  of  a  river 
lead  to  the  supposition  that  they  have  been  drowned. 
The  father,  who  is  in  weak  health,  hears  the  sad  tale 
and  dies,  and  his  wretched  daughter  dies  also.  Years 
pass  on,  Sir  Thomas  Sindall  goes  abroad,  and  when 
he  returns  home  brings  with  him  a  young  lady  who, 
he  says,  had  been  confided  to  his  care  by  a  friend  when 
he  was  at  the  point  of  death.  She  grows  up,  and  is 
beloved  by  a  cousin  of  Sir  Thomas  named  Booth, 
whose  affection  she  returns.  But  the  infamous  baronet 
wishes  to  make  her  his  victim,  and  when  she  fully 
understands  his  designs,  she  escapes  from  the  house, 
but,  being  betrayed  by  her  attendant,  is  overtaken  and 

conveyed  to  the  house  of  one  of  his  creatures,  where 
1! 


314:  NOVELS  AND  NOVELISTS. 

she  is  on  the  point  of  being  outraged  by  Sir  Thomas, 
when  a  woman — the  person  to  whom  the  care  of 
Harriet's  child  had  been  intrusted — rushes  into  the 
room,  and  exclaims  that  the  young  lady  is  Sir  Thom 
as's  own  daughter,  the  long-lost  child  of  Harriet.  In 
the  mean  time  her  cries  have  brought  upon  the  scene 
Harriet's  brother  "William,  who  had  returned  from 
transportation,  and  Booth.  A  scuffle  ensues,  swords 
are  drawn,  and  Sir  Thomas  is  mortally  wounded.  I 
need  not  add  that  his  daughter  and  Booth  are  after 
ward  happily  married,  and  so  the  story,  of  which  the 
above  is  a  mere  outline,  ends. 

Although  the  incidents  of  this  novel  are  very 
much  in  unison  with  the  incidents  of  the  novels  of 
the  century,  with  its  profligate  hero,  its  ruined  maid 
en,  and  its  lone  country  inn  as  the  scene  of  villany, 
there  is  a  marked  improvement  over  most  of  them  in 
tone  and  style.  There  is  no  coarseness,  and  no  vul 
garity,  nor,  unless  my  memory  deceives  me,  does  the 
book  contain  a  single  oath.  It  betokens  the  dawn  of 
a  period  of  more  refined  literary  taste,  whicji  was  soon 
to  brighten  into  day  in  the  pages  of  Miss  Austen  and 
Sir  Walter  Scott. 

Julia  de  Eoubigne  has  the  uncommon  fault  of  be 
ing  only  too  short.  The  story  is  told  in  a  series  of 
letters,  and  the  scenes  are  laid  entirely  in  France. 


'JULIA  DE  ROUBIGNE.'  315 

The  heroine  is  the  daughter  of  a  French  gentleman, 
reduced  from  affluence  to  poverty,  whose  hand  is 
sought  by  a  wealthy  neighbor,  M.  Montauban,  con 
siderably  older  than  herself.  She  at  first  refuses  him, 
but  is  won  over  by  his  generosity  to  her  father,  whom 
he  extricates  from  his  difficulties,  and  she  consents  to 
marry  him.  But  she  does  so  in  the  belief  that  Savil- 
lon,  the  early  object  of  her  secret  love,  who  had  gone 
abroad,  was  married  to  another.  This,  however,  was 
a  mistake,  and  Savillon  returns  to  France  free  to  de 
clare  his  passion,  but  learns  that  Julia  is  the  wife  of 
Montauban.  He  writes,  pressing  for  a  secret  inter 
view,  which  she  reluctantly  and  with  perfect  inno 
cence  of  purpose  consents  to  grant.  But  the  suspi 
cions  of  her  husband  are  aroused,  and  when  he  has 
proof  that  the  meeting  has  taken  place,  he  determines 
to  poison  her.  This  he  accomplishes  by  giving  her  a 
poisoned  drink  as  a  cordial,  and  when  he  finds  from 
her  dying  avowal  to  him  of  all  that  had  taken  place, 
that  she  is  perfectly  innocent,  he  destroys  himself  with 
laudanum.  The  story  is  told  in  a  charming  style, 
and  it  is  difficult  to  read  parts  of  it  without  being 
affected  to  tears. 

In  one  of  his  brilliant  essays,  Lord  Macaulay  says 
that  "  Miss  Burney  first  showed  that  a  tale  might  be 
written  in  which  both  the  fashionable  and  the  vulgar 


316  NOVELS  AND  NOVELISTS. 

life  of  London  might  be  exhibited  with  great  force 
and  with  broad  comic  humor,  and  which  yet  should 
not  contain  a  single  line  inconsistent  with  rigid  mo 
rality,  or  even  with  virgin  delicacy."  But  this  is  car 
rying  praise  too  far.  There  are  scenes  in  *  Evelina ' 
which  are  certainly  not  such  as  virgin  delicacy  now 
would  imagine,  and  still  less  portray. 

What  are  we  to  think  of  the  scene  in  "  Marybone 
Gardens,"  where  Evelina,  to  protect  herself  from  the 
insults  of  a  young  officer,  throws  herself  upon  two 
courtesans,  and  walks  with  them  arm  in  arm ;  and 
when  she  leaves  them,  they  get  a  gentleman  between 
them  and  pinch  and  pinion  him  to  the  great  amuse 
ment  of  the  Miss  Branghtons?  This  is  certainly  a 
situation  not  very  consistent  with  "  virgin  delicacy  " 
of  mind,  to  say  nothing  of  the  extreme  vulgarity  of 
the  talk  of  such  creatures  as  Captain  Mirvan,  Madame 
Duval,  and  the  whole  family  of  Branghtons.  At  the 
Pantheon  a  young  lady,  the  sister  of  Lord  Orville, 
pretends  to  scold  a  young  nobleman  for  a  profane 
allusion,  and  he  parries  the  attack  by  saying,  "  And 
how  can  one  sit  by  you  and  be  good,  when  only  to 
look  at  you  is  enough  to  make  one  wicked,  or  wish  to 
be  so  ?  "  But  it  is  impossible  to  read  c  Evelina '  with 
out  seeing  that  a  state  of  society  existed  which  was 
very  different  from  that  of  the  present  day,  and  feel- 


'EVELINA.'  317 

ing  thankful  that  our  sisters  and  daughters  can  fre 
quent  public  places,  whether  parks  or  gardens  or  ball 
rooms,  without  being  exposed  to  libertine  advances, 
or  offended  by  impertinent  remarks. 

"What  Lord  Macaulay  says  of  'Evelina'  applies 
more  truly  to  Miss  Burney's  '  Cecilia,'  written  at  a 
later  period ;  for  this  novel  is  really  free  from  objec 
tionable  matter,  so  far  as  modesty  is  concerned.  But 
it  is  not  nearly  so  interesting  a  story,  and  is  much 
more  prosy.  "We  respect  'Cecilia'  and  all  her  well- 
meaning  resolutions ;  but  we  fall  in  love  with  '  Eve 
lina,'  whose  mistakes  arise  from  the  charming  inno 
cence  of  her  heart. 

It  was  for  a  long  time  believed  that  Miss  Burney 
was  only  seventeen  when  she  wrote  '  Evelina.'  If  so, 
it  was  indeed  an  extraordinary  book ;  but  the  ques 
tion  depended  upon  the  exact  period  of  her  birth ; 
and  when  Croker  edited  '  Boswell's  Life  of  Johnson,' 
he  took  the  pains,  most  properly  and  naturally  one 
would  think,  to  ascertain  the  fact  by  examining  the 
parish  register  of  the  town  where  she  was  born,  and 
it  turned  out  that  she  was  twenty-six  when  'Evelina' 
was  published.  But  this  excited  the  ire  of  Macaulay, 
who  hated  Croker ;  and  in  an  article  on  the  e  Diary 
and  Letters  of  Madame  d'Arblay '  he  sneers  at  him, 
as  if  he  had  done  an  ungentlemanly  action.  He  says 


318  NOVELS  AND  NOVELISTS. 

that  Miss  Burney  was  too  honest  to  confirm  the  re 
port  :  "probably  she  was  too  much  a  woman  to  con 
tradict  it :  "  and  that,  although  there  was  no  want  of 
low  minds  and  bad  hearts  in  the  generation  which 
witnessed  her  first  appearance  as  an  authoress,  "  it 
did  not,  however,  occur  to  them  to  search  the  parish 
register  at  Lynn  in  order  that  they  might  be  able  to 
twit  a  lady  with  having  concealed  her  age.  That 
truly  chivalrous  exploit  was  reserved  for  a  bad  writer 
of  our  own  time,  whose  spite  she  had  provoked  by 
not  furnishing  him  with  materials  for  a  worthless 
edition  of  '  Boswell's  Life  of  Johnson,'  some  sheets 
of  which  our  readers  have  doubtless  seen  round  par 
cels  of  better  books."  I  think  it  would  be  difficult  in 
the  annals  of  criticism  to  beat  this.  But  when  Lord 
Macaulay  wrote  that  Miss  Burney  was  too  honest  to 
confirm  the  report  about  her  age,  he  forgot  that  in 
her  preface  to  '  Evelina,'  which  was  published  anony 
mously,  she  speaks  of  herself  "  as  a  young  female  edu 
cated  in  the  most  secluded  retirement,"  who  "  makes, 
at  the  age  of  seventeen,  her  first  appearance  on  the 
great  and  busy  stage  of  life."  * 

*  In  his  edition  of  '  Boswcll's  Life  of  Johnson,'  Croker  took 
upon  himself  to  omit,  as  he  says,  "  in  one  or  two  instances,  an 
indecent  passage  ;  and  to  substitute  in  two  or  three  others,  for 
a  coarse  word,  a  more  decorous  equivalent."  For  this  he  was 


MISS  EDGEAYOKTH'S   'BELINDA.'  319 

In  his  '  History  of  English  Literature,'  the  late 
Mr.  Shaw  passes  a  rather  severe  criticism  on  this 
lady's  works.  "  The  chief  defect  of  her  novels,"  he 
says,  "  is  vulgarity  of  feeling ;  not  that  falsely-called 
vulgarity  which  describes  with  congenial  animation 
low  scenes  and  humble  personages,  but  the  affectation 
of  delicacy  and  refinement.  The  heroines  are  per 
petually  trembling  at  the  thought  of  impropriety,  and 
exhibit  a  nervous,  restless  dread  of  appearing  indeli 
cate,  that  absolutely  renders  them  the  very  essence 
of  vulgarity."  I  do  not  think  that  this  is  quite  fair. 
Evelina  and  Cecilia  are  not  vulgar,  and  the  reason 
why  they  tremble  at  the  thought  of  "impropriety" 
is  that  the  manners  of  the  age  constantly  exposed 
young  women  to  contact  with  it  both  in  conversation 
and  conduct.  They  could  not  mix  in  society  without 
hearing  at  times  libertine  language,  from  which  they 
must  have  shrunk  in  proportion  to  their  purity. 

Miss  Edgeworth's  novel  of  '  Belinda '  was  pub 
lished  in  1801,  and  belongs,  therefore,  to  the  present 
century,  but  it  describes  a  state  of  manners  in  fash- 

attacked  by  Macaulay,  who  called  it  capricious  delicacy,  and 
regretted  the  suppression  of  "  a  strong,  old-fashioned  English 
word,  familiar  to  all  who  read  their  Bibles."  It  is  needless  to 
determine  which  of  the  disputants  was  right — but  at  all  events 
the  controversy  shows  the  difference  between  our  free-spoken 
forefathers  and  ourselves. 


320  NOVELS  AND  NOVELISTS. 

ionable  life,  whicli  we  may  be  certain  is  not  worse 
than  prevailed  previously.  In  her  preface,  or  adver 
tisement,  she  called  her  story  a  Moral  Tale,  "  not  wish 
ing  to  acknowledge  a  Novel,"  because  "  so  much  folly, 
error,  and  vice,  are  disseminated  in  books  classed  un 
der  this  denomination."  *  The  heroine  is  a  young 
lady  who  is  sent  by  her  aunt  to  London  to  pay  a  long 
visit  to  Lady  Delacour,  a  fashionable  dame,  who  is 
the  victim  of  a  disease  which  she  supposes  to  be  a 
cancer,  and  conceals  from  the  knowledge  of  her  hus 
band  and  friends,  putting  herself  in  the  hands  of  .a 
quack  doctor,  with  whom  she  has  several  interviews, 
in  a  small  boudoir  opening  out  of  her  bedroom;  and 
these  lead  to  the  suspicion  that  she  is  engaged  in 
some  improper  intrigue.  The  ailment  from  which 
she  suffers  was  caused  by  a  blow  from  a  pistol,  whicli 
she  fired  into  the  air  when  she  met  another  lady  witli 
whom  she  had  been  engaged  to  fight  a  duel !  She 
bears  a  brave  front  to  the  world,  and  assumes  a  gay 
appearance  while  she  is  consumed  by  inward  agony. 
The  language  which  some  of  the  young  men  admitted 
to  the  society  of  Lady  Delacour  and  Belinda  make 

*  Lord  Jeffrey  said :  "  A  greater  mass  of  trash  and  rubbish 
never  disgraced  the  press  of  any  country  than  the  ordinary 
novels  that  filled  and  supported  our  circulating  libraries,  down 
nearly  to  the  time  of  Miss  Edgeworth's  first  appearance." 


NOVELS  AT  THE  END  OF  THE  CENTURY.   321 

use  of  in  tlieir  presence  is  studded  with  oaths — and 
such  as  would  be  thought  grossly  improbable,  if  not 
impossible,  now.  And  Mrs.  Freke  is  nearly  as  bad ; 
if  she  does  not  actually  swear,  she  conies  very  near  it 
in  her  talk,  of  which  I  have  already,  in  a  previous 
page,  given  a  specimen. 

Xow,  Ave  must  assume  that  Miss  Edgeworth  in 
tended  to  represent  the  conversation  and  manners  of 
society  as  she  believed  them  to  exist — although,  no 
doubt,  Mrs.  Freke  is,  in  some  respects,  a  caricature ; 
and  if  her  representation  is  true,  we  cannot  but  come 
to  the  conclusion  that  morality  and  good  manners 
were  at  a  very  low  ebb  in  fashionable  life. 

"With  the  name  of  Jane  Austen  these  references  to 
the  novels  of  the  last  century  may  fitly  end.  But 
before  saying  a  few  words  about  her,  I  may,  in  pass 
ing,  mention  another  authoress  worthy  of  being  placed 
beside  her,  and  belonging  to  the  same  period — I  mean 
Miss  Ferrier — wiiose  three  novels,  '  Marriage,'  4  Inher 
itance,'  and  i  Destiny,'  especially  the  two  former,  I 
consider  among  the  best  in  the  English  language. 
Sir  Walter  Scott  speaks  of  her  as  a  '  gifted  personage 
.  .  .  full  of  humor,  and  exceedingly  ready  at  repar 
tee  ;  and  all  this  without  the  least  affectation  of  the 
blue-stocking."  And  Allan  Cunningham  says  :• "  Edge- 
worth,  Ferrier,  and  Austen,  have  all  given  portraits 


322  NOVELS  AND  NOVELISTS. 

of  real  society  far  superior  to  any  thing  man — vain 
man — has  produced  of  the  like  nature." 

But  to  return  to  Jane  Austen.  Strictly  speaking, 
this  charming  writer  belongs  to  the  present  century, 
for  her  first  publication  took  place  in  1811.  But 
three  of  her  novels  were  written  several  years  before, 
and  two  of  them  had  been  offered  in  vain  to  the  book 
sellers.  Fully  to  appreciate  the  excellence  of  Miss 
Austen's  works,  one  ought  to  have  some  acquaintance 
with  the  state  of  the  literature  of  fiction  at  the  time 
she  began  to  write.  Besides  the  gloomy  horrors  of 
the  Radcliffe  school,  there  was  a  flood  of  weak  and 
vapid  novels  which  deluged  the  libraries  with  trash. 

In  Hannah  More's  'Coelebs'  the  hero  questions 
two  young  ladies  on  the  subject  of  books,  and  one  of 
them  says  that  she  had  read  '  Tears  of  Sensibility,' 
and  '  Rosa  Matilda,'  and  '  Sympathy  of  Souls,'  and 
'  Too  Civil  by  Half,'  and  <  The  Sorrows  of  Werter,' 
and  c  The  Stranger,'  and  '  The  Orphans  of  Snowdon.' 
" '  Yes,  sir,'  joined  in  the  younger  sister,  w^ho  had 
not  risen  to  so  high  a  pitch  of  literature,  '  and  we 
have  read  '  Perfidy  Punished,'  and  £  Jemmy  and  Jen 
ny  Jessamy,'  and  '  The  Fortunate  Footman,'  and  '  The 
Illustrious  Chambermaid.' ':  I  do  not  think  that  these 
were  much  worse,  in  point  of  morality,  than  many  of 
the  novels  which  now  appear,  and  of  which  the  inci- 


MISS  AUSTEST.  323 

dents  seem  to  be  taken  from  tlie  records  of  the  Police 
Courts  and  the  Divorce  Courts  ;  but  the  misfortune 
was,  that  at  that  time,  a  young  lady  had  very  little 
choice,  and  her  mind  must  feed  upon  such  garbage, 
or  abstain  from  novel-reading  altogether. 

It  is  wonderful  to  think  that  Jane  Austen,  a  young 
woman,  the  daughter  of  a  country  clergyman,  brought 
up  in  absolute  retirement,  should,  by  the  intuitive 
force  of  genius,  have  been  able  to  produce  a  series  of 
fictions  which,  in  a  knowledge  of  the  anatomy  of  the 
human  heart,  in  purity  and  gracefulness  of  style,  and 
in  individuality  of  character,  have  never  been  sur 
passed.*  We  are  introduced,  at  once,  into  the  do 
mestic  life  of  England  at  the  close  of  the  century, 
and  find  that  in  her  pages  it  does  not  much  differ 
from  that  of  the  present  day — the  periwigs  and  swords 
have  disappeared,  and  the  habits  of  society  are  much 
the  same  as  now.  But  still  there  are  some  differences 
which  it  is  curious  to  observe,  considering  how  short, 
in  point  of  time,  is  the  distance  that  separates  us  from 
the  writer,  and  that  there  are  still  living  persons  who 
remember  her.  She  is  fond  of  introducing  clergymen 

*  The  late  Sir  George  Lewis  coupled  the  names  of  Defoe 
and  Miss  Austen  together  as  writers  of  fiction,  "which  observes 
nil  the  canons  of  probability."— See  his  '  Credibility  of  Early 
Roman  History,'  vol.  ii.  p.  489. 


324  NOVELS  AND  NOVELISTS. 

into  her  stories,  and  in  some  of  them  they  are  the 
heroes  of  the  tale.  But  theology,  and  indeed  reli 
gion,  is  kept  entirely  in  the  background.  The  type  is 
rather  secular  than  religious.  But  it  is  far  higher 
and  more  refined  than  in  the  conceptions  of  the 
earlier  novelists,  although  not  so  refined  as  it  appears 
in  the  pages  of  a  distinguished  writer  of  the  present 
day — I  mean  Anthony  Trollope — who  excels  in  the 
description  of  sleek  Canons  and  polished  Archdea 
cons,  and  courtly  Bishops.  The  Reverend  Josiah 
Crawl ey,  perpetual  curate  of  Hogglestock,  would,  in 
the  hands  of  Fielding  or  Smollett,  have  been  repre 
sented  as  smoking  tobacco  in  the  kitchen,  drinking 
beer  in  the  ale-house,  and  involved  in  very  question 
able  scenes ;  but  with  all  his  poverty  and  obstinacy, 
he  is  a  perfect  gentleman  and  an  accomplished  scholar. 
The  line  which  is  now  more  strictly  drawn  as  to  the 
amusements  in  which  the  clergy  allow  themselves  to 
indulge,  was,  in  Miss  Austen's  time,  more  flexible— 
and  although  in  '  Mansfield  Park '  the  young  clergy 
man,  Edmund  Bertram,  has  some  misgivings  as  to  the 
propriety  of  taking  part  in  private  theatricals,  it  is 
thought  quite  a  matter  of  course  that  clergymen  should 
dance  at  public  balls,  as  the  .Rev.  Mr.  Tilney,  in 
4  ]STorthanger  Abbey,'  does  at  Bath.  And  the  view 
taken  of  a  clergyman's  duties  was  very  superficial. 


MISS  AUSTEN.  325 

With  a  snug  parsonage  and  decent  income  it  seems 
to  have  been  supposed  that  nothing  more  was  incum 
bent  upon  him  than  to  preach  a  few  sermons,  and  he 
might  enjoy  the  pleasures  of  life  with  as  little  restric 
tion  as  if  he  were  a  layman. 

In  '  Persuasion '  we  have  the  following  recommen 
dation  of  a  living :  "  'And  a  very  good  living  it  was,' 
Charles  added  ;  '  only  five-and-twenty  miles  from  Up- 
percross,  and  in  a  very  fine  country — fine  part  of  Dor 
setshire.  In  the  centre  of  some  of  the  best  preserves 
in  the  kingdom,  surrounded  by  three  great  proprie 
tors,  each  more  careful  and  jealous  than  the  other.' ': 

In  '  Sense  and  Sensibility,'  Robert  Ferrars  laughs 
at  the  idea  of  his  brother  Edward  becoming  a  clergy 
man.  "  The  idea  of  Edward's  being  a  clergyman, 
and  living  in  a  small  parsonage-house,  diverted  him 
beyond  measure;  and  when  to  that  was  added  the 
fanciful  imagery  of  Edward  reading  prayers  in  a 
white  surplice,  and  publishing  the  banns  of  marriage 
between  John  Smith  and  Mary  Bacon,  he  could  con 
ceive  nothing  more  ridiculous."  And  in  i  Mansfield 
Park,'  the  elder  brother  of  Edmund  Bertram  says, 
when  Edmund  is  about  to  be  ordained  :  "  Seven  hun 
dred  a  year  is  a  fine  thing  for  a  younger  brother;  and 
a?,  of  course,  he  will  live  at  home,  it  will  be  all  for 
his  menus  plaisirs  ;  and  a  sermon  at  Christmas  and 


326  NOVELS  AND  NOVELISTS. 

Easter,  I  suppose,  will  be  the  sum  total  of  all  the  sacri 
fice."  It  is,  however,  only  fair  to  state  that  Edmund 
has  a  higher  and  more  worthy  conception  of  the  du 
ties  of  a  clergyman. 

The  vice  of  drunkenness  hardly  appears  in  Miss 
Austen's  novels ;  but  she  represents  the  Rev.  Mr.  El 
ton  as  flustered  with  wine,  if  not  quite  tipsy,  when  he 
surprises  Emma  by  a  declaration  of  his  attachment  as 
they  drive  home  together  in  a  carriage  after  a  dinner 
party.  And  in  another  of  her  novels  she  speaks  of  a 
clergyman  "  breathing  of  wine  "  as  he  passes  from  the 
dining-room  to  the  drawing-room  to  join  the  ladies. 

"We  are  told  by  the  Rev.  Austen  Leigh,  in  the 
sketch  he  has  lately  published  of  Miss  Austen's  life, 
that  she  was  never  in  love.  It  is  difficult  to  believe 
this  ;  but,  if  so,  it  is  an  additional  proof  of  her  won 
derful  acquaintance  with  the  human  heart,  that  she 
was  able  to  write, 

"  In  maiden  meditation  fancy-free," 

and  yet  to  describe  love  in  all  its  mysteries  and  effects, 
with  a  subtlety  of  analysis  and  skill  which  make  her 
almost  unapproachable  among  novelists.  Where  shall 
we  find  elsewhere  such  touching  pictures  of  concealed 
and  aching  attachment,  where  all  hope  seems  to  be 
struck  dead,  as  in  Fanny  Price  in  '  Mansfield  Park,' 


HUSBAND-HUNTING.  327 

in  Elinor  Dash  wood  in  '  Sense  and  Sensibility,'  and  in 
Anne  Elliot  in  '  Persuasion  ? '  The  last  heroine,  one 
of  the  most  charming  of  Miss  Austen's  characters, 
says  to  Captain  Harville,  "  All  the  privilege  I  claim 
for  my  own  sex  (it  is  not  a  very  enviable  one,  you  need 
not  covet  it),  is  that  of  loving  longest,  when  existence 
or  when  hope  is  gone."  And  how  finely  contrasted 
with  the  o-nawino;  tooth  of  this  "  worm  i'  the  bud  "  is 

&  O 

the  half-formed  love  of  Elizabeth  Bennet  for  Mr.  Dar- 
cy  in  '  Pride  and  Prejudice,'  and  the  undisguised  and 
artless  love  of  Catherine  Morland  for  Mr.  Tilney  in 
4  Northanger  Abbey  ! ' 

One  thing,  however,  that  strikes  us  in  these  novels 
is  the  excessive  and  obtrusive  eagerness  of  all  the 
minor  heroines  to  get  married.  Are  we  to  think  that 
husband-hunting  was  the  sole  object  in  life  of  daugh 
ters,  and  the  sole  object  for  which  mothers  existed  ? 
'  Pride  and  Prejudice '  opens  with  the  sentence  that 
when  a  single  man  of  good  fortune  settles  in  a  neigh 
borhood  the  maxim  that  he  must  be  in  want  of  a  wife 
"  is  so  well  fixed  in  the  minds  of  the  surrounding  fam 
ilies  that  he  is  considered  as  the  rightful  property  of 
some  one  or  other  of  their  daughters."  And  when  the 
llev.  Mr.  Collins,  who,  it  must  be  admitted,  is  in 
tended  as  a  fool,  comes  to  visit  his  cousins  with  the 
intention  of  proposing  to  one  of  them,  the  first  words 


328  NOVELS  AND  NOVELISTS. 

lie  speaks  in  the  presence  of  the  young  ladies,  the  Miss 
Ben  nets,  is  to  assure  them  that  he  comes  prepared  to 
admire  them.  Here  "  he  was  interrupted  by  a  sum 
mons  to  dinner  ;  and  the  girls  smiled  on  each  other." 
As  to  Mrs.  Bennet,  she  thinks,  and  dreams,  and  speaks 
of  nothing  else  but  getting  her  girls  married.  And 
the  last  chapter  tells  us  that  "  happy  for  all  her  ma 
ternal  feelings  was  the  day  on  which  Mrs.  Bennet  (jot 
rid  of  her  two  most  deserving  daughters  "  by  marriage. 
The  story  of  '  Emma  '  is  nothing  but  match-mak 
ing  from  beginning  to  end,  and  a  very  charming  story 
indeed  it  is.  In  c  Sense  and  Sensibility '  Marianne 
Dash  wood,  who  represents  sensibility  as  opposed  to 
her  sister  Elinor's  sense,  happens  to  fall  and  sprain  her 
ankle,  and  is  carried  by  a  stranger  to  her  mother's 
house.  Sir  John  Middleton  calls  soon  afterward,  and 
on  being  asked  about  the  unknown  by  Elinor  answers, 
"  Yes,  yes,  he  is  well  worth  catching,  I  can  tell  you, 
Miss  Dashwood ;  he  has  a  pretty  little  estate  of  his 
own  in  Somersetshire  besides ;  and  if  I  were  you  I 
would  not  give  him  up  to  my  younger  sister,  in  spite 
of  all  this  tumbling  down-hills."  In  c  Northanger 
Abbey,'  the  heroine,  Catherine  Morland,  dances  twice 
in  the  Lower  Rooms  at  Bath  with  a  young  clergyman, 
whom  she  has  never  seen  before  ;  and  her  friend  Miss 
Thorpe,  to  whom  she  mentions  the  circumstance,  im- 


THE  LITERATURE   OF  FICTION.  329 

mediately  assumes  that  she  lias  fallen  desperately  in 
love  with  him — exclaiming,  when  his  sister  is  pointed 
out  to  her,  "But  where  is  her  all-conquering  brother  ? 
Is  he  in  the  room  ?  Point  him  out  to  me  this  instant 
if  he  is.  I  die  to  see  him."  This  is  the  speech  of  a 
silly  girl,  but  from  the  general  tone  of  the  characters 
in  these  novels  it  would  really  seem  as  if  it  were 
thought  that  no  man  could  look  twice  at  a  woman,  or 
show  her  ordinary  civility,  without  falling  in  love  with 
her ;  or  that,  at  all  events,  every  woman  was  entitled 
to  construe  the  commonest  attentions  as  declarations 
of  attachment. 

I  feel  that  I  am  treading  on  delicate  ground,  and 
my  opinion  on  such  a  subject  is  perhaps  worth  little ; 
but  I  cannot  believe  that,  except  among  those  who 
are  known  by  the  sobriquet  of  "  Belgravian  mothers," 
young  women  at  the  present  day  are  so  brought  up. 
That  they  should  desire  to  be  happily  married  is  most 
'reasonable,  and  that  they  should  fall  in  love  is  most 
natural  •  but  this  is  something  very  different  from  the 
constant  husband-hunting  which  we  see  displayed  in 
Miss  Austen's  novels.  For  the  change  that  has  taken 
place  in  this  respect  several  reasons  may  be  assigned. 
In  the  first  place,  there  is  generally  nowadays  among 
gentlewomen  a  greater  degree  of  modesty  and  reserve ; 
they  are  also  better  educated, 'and  do  not  feed  their 


330  NOVELS  AND  NOVELISTS. 

minds  with  such  trash  as  the  old  circulating  libraries 
supplied.  In  the  next,  their  resources  are  greatly 
multiplied,  and  they  can  find  in  works  of  charity  and 
benevolence,  in  visiting  the  sick  and  ministering  to 
the  wants  of  the  poor,  means  of  occupation  and  out 
lets  for  their  affections,  which  were  practically  un 
known  to  young  women  of  a  former  generation. 

It  is  happily  no  part  of  my  plan  to  discuss  the 
novels  of  the  present  century,  for  their  number  would 
render  the  task  one  of  appalling  magnitude.  In  no 
department  of  literature  has  authorship  been  so  pro 
lific  as  the  Literature  of  Fiction.  And,  taking  it  as  a 
whole,  we  have  good  reason  to  be  proud  of  it.  Ko 
nation  can  produce  the  names  of  novelists  which  can 
stand  a  comparison — I  speak  only  of  writers  who  are 
deceased — with  those  of  Scott,  Thackeray,  and  Dick 
ens.*  So  far  as  my  knowledge  of  them  extends, 
German  novels  are  heavy  and  uninteresting,  and  over 
loaded  with  minute  details  of  family  menage  •  while 
those  of  France,  with  a  few  brilliant  exceptions— 
among  which  I  cannot  refrain  from  mentioning  the 
names  of  Louis  Reybaud  and  the  dual-authors  Erck- 

*  When  I  visited,  in  Paris,  the  prison  called  Maison  des  Con- 
damnes,  or  La  fioquette,  and  was  in  the  library  there,  I  asked 
what  books  were  most  read  by  the  prisoners,  and  I  was  told 
that  they  were  translations  of  the  novels  of  Sir  Walter  Scott. 


USES  OF  FICTIOK  331 

rnann-Cliatrian — arc  defiled  by  impurity.  Since  the 
beginning  of  the  reign  of  Louis  Philippe,  the  French 
press  has  been  deluged  with  novels  of  what  I  may 
call  the  Cyprian  School,  the  staple  incidents  of  which 
are  crime,  seduction,  and  adultery.  If  we  may  take 
these  as  any  indication  of  the  state  of  morals  in 
France,  it  is  difficult  not  to  believe  that  it  was  cor 
rupt  to  the  very  core.  And  whatever  exception  may 
be  made  for  the  provinces,  where  domestic  purity  was 
less  exposed  to  attack,  I  fear  that  this  may  be  said, 
with  too  much  truth  of  the  luxurious  capital.  If 
there  had  not  been  a  demand  for  such  a  literature,  the 
supply  would  soon  have  ceased ;  but  the  supply  went 
on  increasing,  and  betokened  that 

• — increase  of  appetite 
Had  grown  Iby  what  it  fed  upon." 

In  our  own  country  there  have  of  late  been  novels 
— and  some  of  them  from  female  pens — which,  if  not 
quite  so  unreserved  in  their  details  of  profligacy,  have 
been  quite  as  bad  in  their  tone  and  tendency.  But 
the  difference  is  this :  In  England  they  have  been 
rather  the  exception  than  the  rule ;  wrhereas  in  France 
they  have  been  the  rule  and  not  the  exception. 
"Would,  however,  that  all  novelists  bore  in  mind  the 
responsibility  of  their  vocation !  There  is  no  litera- 


332  NOVELS  AND  NOVELISTS. 

ture  so  fascinating,  and  none  which  is  perused  with 
more  avidity  by  the  young.  The  old  prejudice  which 
condemned  novel-reading  as  dangerous  and  improper 
has  almost  worn  away,  and  people  have  the  sense  to 
see  that  lessons  of  purity  and  truth  may  be  taught 
most  attractively  when  dressed  in  the  garb  of  fiction, 
whether  that  fiction  assume  the  form  of  parable  or 
novel.  What  Bacon  says  of  Poetry  applies  equally 
to  Prose  Fiction :  "  Therefore,  because  the  acts  or 
wants  of  true  history  have  not  that  magnitude  which 
satisfieth  the  mind  of  man,  poesy  feigneth  acts  and 
events  greater  and  more  heroical;  because  true  his 
tory  propoundeth  the  successes  and  issues  of  actions 
not  so  agreeable  to  the  merits  of  virtue  and  vice, 
therefore  poesy  feigns  them  more  just  in  retribution, 
and  more  according  to  revealed  Providence;  because 
true  history  representeth  actions  and  events  more  or 
dinary  and  less  interchanged,  therefore  poesy  indueth 
them  with  more  rareness,  and  more  unexpected  and 
alternative  variations ;  so  it  appeareth  that  poesy 
serveth  and  conformeth  to  magnanimity,  morality, 
and  delectation."  * 

And  even  if  the  story  has  no  moral,  it  is  enough 
if  it  supplies  the  means  of  innocent  recreation ;  and 
it  need  not  be  like  '  Coelebs  in  Search  of  a  Wife,' 
*  '  Advancement  of  Learning,'  Book  ii. 


RESPONSIBILITY  OF  NOVELISTS.  333 

which  has  been  called  a  "  dramatic  sermon."  Youth 
is  the  season  of  imagination,  and  the  imagination  re 
quires  its  proper  aliment  as  much  as  any  other  of  our 
faculties.  But  what  shall  we  say  of  the  writer  who 
feeds  it  with  the  poison  of  impurity,  and,  having  the 
power  to  range  at  will  over  the  whole  realm  of  fancy, 
chooses  for  his  subject  the  prurient  details  of  vice  and 
crime  ?  The  coarseness  of  the  novels  of  the  last  cen 
tury  may,  to  a  certain  extent,  have  acted  as  an  anti 
dote  to  the  harm  which  they  would  otherwise  have 
done,  for  often  in  them 

"  Vice  is  a  monster  of  so  frightful  mien, 
As  to  be  hated  needs  but  to  be  seen ; " 

— although  the  age  was  so  coarse  that  I  doubt  whether 
these  lines  were  quite  applicable  then.  But  now  a 
thin  veil  of  decency  is  thrown  over  incidents  which 
in  themselves  are  as  immoral  as  any  of  the  adven 
tures  of  'Peregrine  Pickle'  or  'Tom  Jones,'  and  the 
only  antidote  to  their  insidious  mischief  is  their  silli 
ness  and  stupidity.  Indeed,  the  veil  of  decency  makes 
some  of  the  modern  novels  more  dangerous  than  the 

O 

old ;  just  as,  to  use  the  illustration  which  Bacon  has 
drawn  from  the  Hebrew  law  regarding  leprosy,  "If 
the  whiteness  have  overspread  the  flesh,  the  patient 


334  XOVELS  AM>  NOVELISTS. 

may  go  abroad  for  clean ;  hut  if  there  be  any  whole 
flesh  remaining,  he  is  to  he  shut  ^lp  for  unclean" 
which  "  noteth  a  position  of  moral  philosophy,  that 
men,  abandoned  to  vice,  do  not  so  much  corrupt 
manners  as  those  that  are  half-good  and  half-evil." 
Again,  I  say,  let  novelists  remember  the  responsibil 
ity  they  incur  in  the  creation  of  their  fictions.  It 
would  be  well  if  they  would  lay  to  heart  the  words 
of  an  American  writer,  with  which  I  will  conclude 
this  volume : 

"  If  they  "  (i.  e.,  the  ideals  wre  set  before  us)  "  are 
consistent  with  the  conditions  of  our  human  nature 
and  our  human  life,  if  they  are  conformed  to  the 
physical  and  moral  laws  of  our  nature,  and  the  Gov 
ernment  and  will  of  God,  they  are  healthful  and  en 
nobling.  Such  ideals  can  scarcely  be  too  high  or  too 
ardently  and  steadfastly  adhered  to.  But  if  they  arc 
false  in  their  theory  of  life  and  happiness,  if  they  are 
untrue  to  the  conditions  of  our  actual  existence,  if 
they  involve  the  disappointment  of  our  hopes,  and 
discontent  with  real  life,  they  are  the  bane  of  all  en 
joyments,  and  fatal  to  true  happiness.  The  brief 
excitement  which  these  unreal  dreams  occasion, 
however  highly  wrought  this  excitement  may  be, 
is  a  poor  offset  to  the  painful  contrasts  which  they 


RESPONSIBILITY  OF  NOVELISTS.  335 

necessarily  involve."  *  The  author  is  here  speaking 
of  the  day-dreams  of  our  waking '  thoughts ;  but 
what  he  says  applies  equally  to  the  fictions  of  the 

Kovelist. 

*  Porter  on  '  The  Human  Intellect,7  pp.  371,  372.    New  York, 
1869. 


A. 

ABDUCTION,  244. 

Addison,  22,  28,  47,  73,  122. 

'  Adventures    of    Count    Fathom,' 

147,  274. 
'Amelia,'  17,  69,  91,  97,  108,  112, 

270-273. 

'  Amorous  Widow,'  40. 
Astrsea,  176,  178. 
'  Atalantis,'  New,  155,  190. 
Athenaeus,  25,  72. 
Austen,  Miss  Jane,  46,  87,  104,  307, 

321-329. 


B. 


Bacon,  332,  333. 

Barnbridge,  Trial  of,  95. 

Bate,  Eev.  Henry,  109. 

Bath.  35,  294. 

Bathing  in  Public,  35. 

Beau  Nash,  30,  88. 

Beaux,  70. 

Behn,  Mrs.,  59,  176-180. 

'Belinda,'  102.  107,  109,  133,  319. 

Bracegirdle,  Mrs.,  82. 

Bradshaigh,  Lady,  40,  42,  250-254, 

257. 

Brooke,  Henry,  20,  28,  55,  98,  168. 
Buck-parson,  134. 
Bucks,  70. 
Burney,  Miss,  37,  41,  317. 


C. 

'  Coelebs,'  322,  332. 
Oalderwood,  Mrs.,  89. 
Cameron,  Dr.,  65. 


Canning,  105,  263,  306,  310. 
Capital  Punishment,  53. 
Caricature,  56,  107. 
Carlylc,  15. 
Cassock,  137. 
'  Cecilia,'  68. 
'  Chances,  The,'  40. 
Chesterfield,  Lord,  35. 

sal,  or  the  Adv  _ 

Guinea,'  167,  168. 
Cibber,  Colley,  246,  247. 
'Clarissa  Harlowe'  135,  171,  214- 

217. 

Clergy,  The,  125-1 37,  324-326. 
— — Distinction  between  Town  and 

Country,  132. 
Clubs,  72. 
Coaches,  84. 
Coffee-houses,  72. 
Coleridge,  25,  175,  257,  260. 
'  Connoisseur,'  16,  30,  71,  79,  110. 
'  Contempt  of  the  Clergy,'  125,  131. 
'  Conversation,  Essay  on,'  164. 


Country  Squires,  116,  117,  123. 
Coverley,   Sir  Koger  de,   83, 


m- 


124. 


Cowper's  (Lady)  Diary,  39,  65.  88, 

100. 
Croker  and  Lord  Macaulay,  317,  318. 


D. 

Debtors,  Law  against,  98. 

Defoe,  11,  22,  213,  263. 

Delany,  Mrs.,  62,  85,  100,  107,  245, 

256. 

De  Quincey,  27. 
Derwentwater,  Lord,  64. 
Dickens,  56,  242. 
Dinner-hour,  210. 


INDEX. 


337 


Dress  of  Gentlemen,  63. 

—  of  Ladies,  61. 
Drunkenness,  91,  99-103. 
Drums,  G9. 
Duelling,  107-113. 


E. 

Edgeworth,  Miss,  319-321. 

Edinburgh,  295. 

'  Emma  '  328. 

'  English  Humorist,'  49. 

Epliraim  the  Quaker,  37. 

Essayists,  44-47. 

'  Evelina,'  35,  41,  171,  336. 

Executions,  90,  92. 

Extravagance  of  Conduct,  < 


F. 


'  Fair  Hypocrite,'  197-202. 
Faro's  Daughters,  107. 
'  Female  Quixote,'  34,  155-157 
Fielding,  17,  24,  90,  241,   25G-273, 

275. 

Fleet  Marriages,  138-151. 
Fleet  Prison,  94. 
Fleet  Kegisters,  147. 
Flying  Coach,  The,  84. 
'Fool  of  Quality,'   20, 

168-171. 
French  Novels,  330. 


28,  55,   98, 


G. 

Gambling.  106. 

Gay's  '  Trivia,'  83,  127. 

Gent,  Thomas,  93.  157. 

Godwin,  99,  117. 

Goldsmith,  30,  51,  64.  299-306, 

1  Grandison,  Sir  Charles  '  30,  32,  76, 

112,  171,  219-239. 
Greeks,  Love  as  described  by,  24. 
Grub-Street  Journal,  142. 
Gunnings,  Miss,  70,  149. 


H. 

Ilarrogate,  294. 
Hell-fire  Club,  16. 
Herschel,  Sir  John,  214. 
Ileywood,  Mrs.,  176,  203. 
Highwaymen,  88-92. 
15 


Hill,  Captain,  82. 

Hogarth,  49. 

Hoop-petticoats,  63. 

House-rents,  82. 

Huggins,  Trial  of,  96. 

'Humphry  Clinker,'  36,  61,  79,  81, 

109,  288-297. 
Husband-hunting,  327. 


I. 

*  Idler,  The,'  46,  99. 
Imprisonment  for  Debt, 
Insults  to  Women,  36. 


J. 


Jeffrey,  Lord,  320. 

Johnson,  Dr.,  13,  24,  45,  64,  73,  77, 

108,  110,  118,  218,  318. 
Jokes,  Practical,  71. 
'  Joseph  Andrews,'  130,  136,  268- 

270. 

*  Julia  do  Koubigne",'  314. 
Justice  of  the  Peace,  114. 


K. 

Kingsley,  Eev.  Charles,  20,  55,  168. 
Kingston,  Duchess  of,  68. 


L. 


Laborer,  Condition  of,  19, 
Lecky's  'History  of  Eationalism,' 

47,52,54. 

Letters,  Novels  under  Form  of,  173. 
Lewis,  Sir  George,  323. 
London,  81,  82,  290. 
Love,  25-32. 

'  Love  and  Madness,'  34. 
'Love  for  Love,'  41. 


M. 

Macaulay,  Lord,  47,  128,  214,  315, 

3172  318. 
Maccaromes,  70. 
Mackenzie,  311. 

Malmesbury,  Earl  of,  Letters,  90. 
Manley,  Mrs.,  196. 
'  Man  of  Feeling,  The,'  310. 


338 


INDEX. 


4  Man  of  the  World,  The,'  311. 
'  Mansfield  Park,'  324. 
Marriage,  73-76,  236. 
Marriage  of  the  Clergy,  128. 
'Marybone  Gardens,'  77,  316. 
Masquerades,  68. 
Matrimony,  73-76. 
'Memoirs  of  a  Lady  of  Quality,' 

34,  287. 

'  Microcosm,'  105,  263,  306. 
'Miss  Betsy  Thoughtless'  35,  81, 

111,  203-212. 
Modesty,  Want  of,  35. 
Mohock  Club,  83. 
Moliere,  156,  157. 
Montagu,  Lady  Mary  Wortlcy,  129. 


•N. 

'  New  Atalantis,'  155,  106. 
Newspapers,  Modern,  48. 
'  Northanger  Abbey,'  46,  307,  327. 
Novelists,  Responsibility  of,  333. 


O. 

Oldham's  Poem  on  the  Clergy,  126. 
'  Oroonoko,'  181-187. 


P. 

Painting,  49. 

'Pamela,'  129,  214,  218. 

Parson,  125-137,  324-326. 

4  Peregrine  Pickle,'  34,  65  138,  276- 

287. 

Periwigs,  65. 
Peter  Pindar,  134. 
Petticoats,  63. 
'Persuasion  '  327. 
'Polly  Honeycomb,'  159,  16u. 
'Pompey,  or  the  Adventures  of  a 

Lap-Dog,'  168. 
Porter  on  'The  Human  Intellect,' 

334. 

Pretty  Fellows,  70. 
'  Pride  and  Prejudice,'  327. 
Prisons,  94. 
Puritans,  54. 


B. 


Radcliffc,  Mrs.,  307. 
'  Eanelagh,'  77-80. 


Refinement,  Want  of,  17. 

Religion,  21,  24. 

Richardson,  29,  40,  42,  70,  86,  151, 

153,  163,   217,  236,  2G1,   2G8, 

272. 

his  Style,  241. 

Correspondence,  245-254. 

Portrait  of,  253,  254. 

Roads,  State  of,  84. 
Robberies,  88-92. 
Romances,  the  Old,  152-154. 

Parodied,  307-310. 

Romans,  Love  as  described  by,  25. 
Rosamond's  Pond,  210. 
'  Roxana,'  263. 


Satire,  56. 

Scott,  Sir  Walter,  58,  330. 

Sermons  of  Swift.  22. 

'  Sense  and  Sensibility,'  325,  328. 

Settlement,  Law  of,  18. 

Shaw's  '  History  of  English  Litera 
ture,'  17,  318. 

4  Simple  Story,'  108,  172. 

Smollett,  274-276. 

Social  Aspects,  15.  46,  74. 

Society,  State  of,  58. 

'  Spectator,'  37,  39,  46,  GO,  84,  104, 
121,  122,  136. 

'  Spiritual  Quixote,'  33,  66,  132, 101, 
298,  299. 

Squire,  Country,  116,  117, 123. 

Squire  Western,  116. 

Stage,  38-40. 

Steele,  23,  29,  37,  74,  101,  128. 

Stella,  32. 

Sterne,  24,  164. 

Streets,  83. 

Swearing,  103, 117. 

Swift,  Dean,  22,  23,  33,  125,  128. 


T. 


Taine's  'Histoire  de  la  Litterature 
Anglaise,'  174,  244,  271,  275. 

4  Taller,'  29,  37,  62, 101,  104,  127. 

Thackeray,  10,  49,  80,  258-260. 

Thoresby's  Diary,  88, 100. 

4  Tom  Jones,'  180,  255-267. 

Travelling,  84. 

Trees,  Punishment  for  cutting 
down,  115. 

'  Tristram  Shandy-,'  163. 

'Trivia,'  83,127. 


INDEX. 


339 


u. 


1  Unfortunate  Bride,'  191. 
'Unfortunate    Happy  Lady,'    189- 

194. 
1  Unhappy  Mistake,'  195. 

V. 

Vane,  Lady,  34. 

'  Vanity  Fair,'  80. 

Vauxhall,  77-81. 

4  Vicar  of  Wakefield,'  299-306. 

W. 

Walpole,  Horace,  19,  67,  77,  80,  89, 
90,  106. 


'  Wandering  Beauty  '  186-189. 
1  Wanton  Wife,'  40. 
Watches,  Size  of,  65. 
Watchmen,  91. 
Wesley,  67, 171. 
Wig-makers,  Petition  ofv  66. 
Wigs,  67. 
Women,  Insults  to,  36. 

and  the  Stage,  38. 

Influence  of  the  Age  upon,  31- 

36. 
Wray,  Daniel,  69. 


Y. 

York  Cathedral,  295. 
Young,  Dr.,  161,  247. 


THE   END. 


LTTVP  '"RY 


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